


Unparalleled

by skulls_and_stripes



Category: BoJack Horseman
Genre: Ableism, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Eating Disorders, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Grooming, Kinda, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, its the 90s nobody's gonna get diagnosed with autism but like. its implied ig, kind of a fix it but not really, no csa is shown on screen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28477167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skulls_and_stripes/pseuds/skulls_and_stripes
Summary: When Herb gets outed as gay, BoJack makes a deal with the devil - also known as Angela - to keep him on set so he can look out for the kids.
Relationships: BoJack Horseman/Herb Kazzaz
Comments: 17
Kudos: 59
Collections: Ollywoo AUs





	1. Unparalleled Chapter 1: The Herb Kazzaz Story

His hair’s been getting thinner for a  _ while --  _ in fact, he’s pretty sure the fireworks to celebrate the new year back in 1990 scared his hairline so badly that it just  _ ran away,  _ explaining its sudden presence halfway up his skull before he was even thirty -- but he must have torn more of it out in the past  _ day  _ than he’s ever gradually noticed falling out. He can’t stop  _ pacing,  _ shoes beating against the hallway floor, hands alternating between wild, frustrated and anxious gestures, tearing at his own scalp, and resting just away from his mouth for some good-old therapeutic nail-biting. “Oh my  _ God.” _

BoJack, who mostly has been just  _ standing  _ there uncertainly, rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I’m -- I’m really sorry, Herb.”

“This show is my  _ baby!”  _ He groans loudly, burying his face in his hands. “How can they  _ do  _ this?!”

“I don’t know,” says BoJack numbly.

“There’s no  _ way  _ this is legal,” he continues, pulling the remains of his hair out as he paces relentlessly. “Seriously! There’s  _ got  _ to be a law against -- against this kind of  _ bullshit.” _

“Uh, anti-discrimination laws? In 1993, which is the current year?” He raises an eyebrow, skeptical. If he’s also somewhat amused by the proposition, then he hides it. “You might be aiming a little high.”

“Not funny,” Herb snaps.

BoJack wilts where he stands. As weak as he feels for it, he can’t  _ handle  _ Herb being angry at him. Part of him is in fact  _ terrified  _ of Herb having any opinion about him at all, of being  _ perceived  _ by those he cares about. But anger in particular makes his heart skip a beat or several every time -- anger means he  _ screwed up,  _ and he’s about to pay for it. 

“I’m  _ sorry,”  _ he says numbly.

“I  _ made  _ the network with this show.” He throws up his hands in frustration. “And now they think they can just -- do  _ this?!” _

“I’m sorry, Herb.” He gulps. “And, if it helps at all, I … I did everything I could.”

Herb is at a breaking point of frustration by now.  _ “Why  _ would that help?!”

* * *

She swallowed down a lump in her coffee, which she’d purchased from a convenience store where any attempt at coffee invariably ended up being milk with extra steps. He responded by swallowing down a lump in his throat.

“So,” she said plainly, leaving no room for any objection or argument. “We’re letting Herb go.”

There was a pause.

“You can’t do that.” Angela said it,  _ perfectly  _ rehearsed to coincide with his own predictable protests, but BoJack didn’t say it at the same time. He didn’t say it a half-second later, either. She frowned.

“I understand,” he said, very carefully, in a tone so professional it could pass for robotic. “That it would be detrimental to the show’s ratings if it was known that the episodes were still being written by a known homosexual.”

Angela blinked. “You’re taking this remarkably well.”

BoJack ignored her. If he tried hard enough, maybe  _ he  _ could be the unmovable professional, and  _ she  _ could be the uncertain negotiator slowly realising none of her prepared speech would work, lacking the confidence to call his bluff no matter how flimsy it was. If he could reverse the roles,  _ he  _ could be the one in power. “Who were you planning on replacing Herb with?”

“We’re looking at a variety of well-known writers,” she answered. “At the moment, our top candidate is Danny Bananas.”

BoJack almost ruined the entire attempt by gagging on the spot. No part of him wanted to work with  _ Danny Bananas,  _ of all people. He was a completely  _ idiotic  _ writer; he thought that making any passing reference to Shakespeare inherently made him a literary genius even though he seemed to think Romeo and Juliet had a  _ healthy  _ relationship despite the canon relationship having caused six deaths, including that of the two  _ fourteen-year-olds  _ in the couple, within the three days that it lasted; and at one point he had attended a party that BoJack had gotten dragged into, and gotten so drunk he tried to  _ set BoJack up  _ with his underaged daughter.

BoJack, needless to say, was not interested.

The entire experience was thoroughly  _ weird  _ and had pretty heavily tainted his perception of Danny. But, maybe there was an advantage.

Danny Bananas, after all, probably  _ wasn’t  _ good enough to carry  _ Horsin’ Around  _ singlehandedly. And if  _ he  _ was their first choice, then maybe Herb wasn’t  _ quite  _ as replaceable as they thought he was.

* * *

“Do they have any  _ idea  _ how much this means to me?!” He’s moved past tearing his hair out and is now at the point of clawing at his own arms, leaving red angry marks all over his skin. “I stayed up until all  _ sorts  _ of ungodly hours to finish the scripts for  _ their  _ deadlines, for  _ my  _ passion project. What the  _ heck  _ do they think gives them the right to do this?!”

“I don’t know.” BoJack is damn near  _ desperate  _ by this point, and it shows. “I did everything I could.”

“It’s gonna  _ kill  _ me, BJ.” He groans. “Next week the new episode’s gonna air, and I’m gonna watch it at home, and I’ll see goddamn  _ Danny Bananas  _ in the credits where  _ my  _ name  _ should  _ be, and -- and it’s gonna kill me.” He takes a few deep breaths, visibly blinking back tears. His voice breaks when he says, “I don’t want to  _ settle  _ for this.”

“Neither do I. I’m sorry.”

“There’s  _ got  _ to be a way around this.”

“There’s no way around a deal with the devil, Herb.”

“Angela’s not the devil!” He groans, burying his face in his hands. “Like, maybe there’s some obscure law against it.”

“Doubt it. This situation’s practically unprecedented.” He sighs, placing a hand on Herb’s shoulder. “I did everything I could. This is what I could do.”

“I know! And I’m grateful. But --” he sighs. “You’re right. This  _ is  _ a deal with the devil. Because I sold my soul.”

“Selling your soul’s not so bad.”

Herb raises an eyebrow at him. “Uh, have you read  _ any  _ book?”

“Yeah, the devil puts shit into the fine print, whatever. But what they  _ don’t  _ tell you about selling your soul --” He grins. “Is that souls are  _ expensive.  _ You’re getting a hell of a payoff.”

“...Yeah.” He manages a small smile, glancing down the hallway at Sarah Lynn reading her scripts. “I think it was worth it.”

* * *

“So, here’s the thing.” He cleared his throat professionally. “Sarah Lynn’s being abused.”

The sentence had the desired effect. She was caught completely off guard and at a loss for what to do next. She couldn’t point out just how  _ irrelevant  _ it was without seeming like she just didn’t  _ care,  _ and she couldn’t make any attempts at suggesting ways to solve the problem because she knew none of them would  _ work.  _ She just sat there, silently.

“Everybody can see it,” BoJack continued. “It’s obvious just from spending a minute in the same room as her and her stepdad. But, CPS won’t do  _ shit  _ because they’re rich and good at destroying the evidence.”

The word,  _ “And?”  _ was on the tip of her tongue, but she clearly couldn’t summon the absolute  _ heartlessness  _ to point out that this was not only completely irrelevant to the issue at hand, but completely out of her control. She stayed silent.

“Herb thinks he can get evidence that he  _ can’t  _ destroy. He’s not sure how, but everyone else has just  _ given up.  _ And whether you believe him or not, you can’t deny that he’s good with kids. She needs  _ some  _ supportive adult in her life, and God knows I’m too much of a wreck.” He clasped his hands together. “And you try to act like you don’t care, but you do, because you  _ have  _ to care about shit like this. Do you  _ really  _ want to kick the  _ one  _ supportive adult out of her life?”

Angela, finally, regained her composure. “We still can’t keep Herb on the show. He’ll kill the ratings now that everyone knows he’s gay.

BoJack damn near  _ growled,  _ an odd sort of low animalistic rumble rising up within him. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t fire Herb,” he hissed. “I’m saying we have to let him help Sarah Lynn.”

* * *

“I don’t know how I’m going to cope with this.” He slams his head against the wall of the hallway. “I really don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I  _ wish  _ there was a way out of it.” He groans. “Maybe if we’d tried the ‘threaten to walk’ idea.”

“No, that wouldn’t work,” BoJack insists. “She’d have called my bluff, I’d have chickened out. You know me, I’m an asshole.” He chuckles nervously.

Herb ignores him. “I don’t even know what I’m going to  _ do  _ tonight. Probably just lie in my bed being a sad pile of shit. Maybe get drunk.”

“Maybe something stronger?” suggests BoJack unhelpfully. “When I want to ignore my problems, I do mushrooms. The thing where you lie on your back staring at the ceiling tripping  _ balls,  _ watching all the cool hallucinations?” He grins. “Man, that is unparalleled.”

“It’s paralleled by both the floor and the ceiling,” deadpans Herb. “but I get what you mean. No drugs for me, though. I’ll stick to a drink or two.”

BoJack raises an eyebrow. “You think the ceiling and the floor are better than tripping balls?”

“No, I meant -- forget it.” He forces a smile. “I mean, I guess things aren’t  _ so  _ bad.”

“Yeah!” says BoJack, grinning. “I mean, it could have been  _ so  _ much worse. You could have gotten fired.”

* * *

Angela’s eyes were wide. It was clear she hadn’t factored in any of this. “Well, how can he help if he gets fired?”

“I don’t know,” BoJack answered bluntly. “You’re the one with the power here. I’m just trying to negotiate.”

She frowned, stirring her coffee. It was cold by now. She had completely forgotten to drink it. “We can’t keep him in the credits, obviously.”

“Obviously,” agreed BoJack. “Maybe if you demoted him?” He gestured vaguely. “Like, make him an assistant, or something. That way he can help out and keep an eye on things without being associated with the show.”

“...An assistant,” said Angela slowly. She considered it. “...We  _ could  _ use his work in the writing room still.”

“Exactly! A weirdly-highly-paid assistant who helps with the scripts, but gets no credit for it. This sounds degrading, but helpful!” He grinned hopefully. “What do you say?”

Angela considered this.

BoJack’s grin faded. A failed attempt, in his mind, was  _ worse  _ than no attempt at all. Part of him was irrationally afraid that she, or Herb, or  _ someone,  _ would react to his failure with violence. His heart had been  _ pounding  _ during the entire meeting, but now, it felt like he was about to keel over and die from a heart attack.

“...Your time is my time,” she finally said. “And this has already taken too much time. You gave me a solution to my problem. I appreciate your problem-solving skills.”

“Th-Thanks,” muttered BoJack.

Standing up, completely ignoring the coffee on the table, she turned away from him. “Don’t use them again.”

* * *

He takes a deep breath. “Do you know  _ how  _ you’re gonna get her away from her stepdad?”

“No,” answers Herb. “But I’m  _ going  _ to. I can’t just  _ leave  _ her there.”

“Maybe some whacky sitcom-style ‘curate a divorce to get the step-parent out of the picture’ scheme?” he suggests weakly.

Herb raises an eyebrow. “I guess your problem-solving skills only showed up in that meeting.”

“Actually, Angela solved the problem. I just accidentally took credit for it.”

“Those schemes  _ never  _ work in sitcoms. Also, her mom’s just as bad in my eyes if she lets this happen.” He groans. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you.”

BoJack’s entire body jolted. The relief that flooded his veins was so calming he wasn’t quite stupid enough to trust it. “You’re not?”

“No, I’m not. I was just stressed with this whole thing. I’m  _ really  _ glad you managed to find a way to make it work.” He sighs. “You know, you didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I kinda did.”

“Yeah. You did.” He takes a deep breath, then straightens up. “Well, I’d better move my shit out of Danny Bananas’ office."


	2. Do You Quarrel, Sir?

The coffee spills out of the poorly-designed lid, each droplet feeling like fire on his hand. His instinct, of course, would be to frantically shake his hand until it stops hurting, maybe run it under cold water if he gets a chance, but he couldn’t even  _ attempt  _ that without spilling significantly more coffee, so he has to just settle for transferring the hot cup over to his non-burnt hand. It helps somewhat.

When he knocks on the door, he can’t  _ quite  _ hear the subsequent “come in” -- he’s sure he hears  _ something,  _ and it’s  _ probably  _ her telling him to come in, but he’s not  _ sure  _ if it’s that or something else, and after a moment of indecision over whether it’s better to burst in and look rude or knock again and look stupid, he decides to attempt at splitting the difference by entering so mind-numbingly  _ slowly  _ that it doesn’t even  _ look  _ like he’s entering, so if his presence seems unwelcome he can pretend he wasn’t coming in the first place.

Sharona raises an eyebrow at him. “Thought you’d never come.”

Herb glares. “Hey, this isn’t exactly easy.”

“Bringing coffees isn’t exactly easy?” she snarks. Shrugging, she takes the lid off her coffee -- Herb tries his best to neither notice nor acknowledge the spills on it -- and begins to take a box of orange juice out of its packaging.

Herb raises an eyebrow. “You’re spiking your drink with … orange juice?”

“If that helps you sleep at night, then, sure.”

“Well, it’s a good source of vitamin C, I guess.” He chuckles nervously. “I’m sorry. I’m not good with bringing coffees to people.”

“Nobody is at first,” says Sharona bluntly. “There’s no university course to teach you coffee-bringing. You just have to do it.”

“The coffee’s  _ hot.”  _

“Well,  _ someone’s  _ never had to work in fast food.” She grins in a way that manages to come across as both fond and patronising. “You’re a real fish out of water now, huh?”

“Am not,” he insists. “I was a fish out of water in 1978 when my adoptive seahorse kicked me out. This is  _ nothing.” _

“...Your adoptive  _ what _ family?”

“Seahorses. You heard me.” He groans. “Is  _ this  _ what assistants do? Just give people coffee all day?”

“Pretty much. You also have to remind people to do stuff, and occasionally deliver scripts to the actors.”

“Ugh, but when do you have time to  _ write  _ the scripts?!”

“You don’t,” she answers bluntly. “You don’t write scripts. You’re an assistant.”

“...Oh.” He frowns. “Man, being an assistant  _ sucks.” _

“I can imagine.” She starts to sip her coffee, and at no point does she make a facial expression that would indicate it being sour from the orange juice. “Who are you bringing coffee to next?”

His features harden immediately. “Danny Bananas,” he damn near  _ snarls.  _ “I’ll have to go to my  _ own  _ goddamn office.”

“It’s not your office anymore.”

“I know! But it  _ should  _ be my office. I mean, look at him! You think  _ he  _ deserves to be the writer for  _ my  _ project? I’m surprised his nose hasn’t declared independence from the rest of his face.”

“Okay, that’s true, but it’s also harsh.” She forces a smile. “Just take him the coffee, keep your head down, and -- and if you’re real lucky he’ll write something so  _ horrible  _ they tell someone to take over the assistant stuff so you can help with the writing more.”

“God, I hope so.” After a pause, he hesitates, then exits the room.

* * *

It’s damn near red hot between his fingers and on the verge of falling out of his palm. He can barely keep his grip on it with one hand as he uses the other to open the door. The  _ asswad  _ decided he wanted extra-hot. Of  _ course  _ he did. He’s probably trying to gradually burn away at his overgrown nose. 

From the  _ second  _ Herb enters the office -- the office that  _ should,  _ by all means, be  _ his --  _ he can  _ feel  _ Danny glaring at him. It’s unnerving, to say the least. Hesitantly, he places the coffee on the desk, slowly, so it won’t spill. There’s a long pause as he waits to be dismissed.

Then, feeling daring, he bursts into a coughing fit that sounds suspiciously like the words “shitty excuse for a writer”.

Danny Bananas stares at him, frowning, visibly uncertain. Herb stares right back with confidence that the giant-nosed asshole probably  _ wishes  _ he had.

After a long staring contest, Danny goes back to his scripts, not having said a word during the entire exchange. Herb ducks out of the room, grinning ear to ear. If he gets these next few coffees out fast, he can scribble out some ideas on a soggy notebook hidden in BoJack’s trailer, or something. 

All in a day’s work.

* * *

BoJack cringes. “That’s gonna get mouldy, you know.” 

“Is not,” Herb fires back. “This is how I  _ focus.” _

“With mould? Eh, if you’re sure.” He flips back over his  _ dry  _ scripts, trying to remember a particularly irritating scene. He frowns. “Why is your book wet anyway?”

“...No reason.”

BoJack narrows his eyes. “Herb,  _ what  _ did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“You know, for a smart guy, you sure are stupid.”

“Okay, fine, I took my notebook to the shower. That’s where I get my best ideas!” He throws up his hands in frustration, but due to his status curled up under a table in BoJack’s trailer, he nearly destroys the table in the process. “And I can’t tear out the pages that are wet. That’ll wreck it.”

“Are there pages that  _ aren’t  _ wet?”

“Well, the ones I wrote in  _ while in the shower  _ are pretty much destroyed. Everything else is damp.” At BoJack’s continued astonished look, he adds, “What? I want to preserve the ideas. You know what they say -- never edit soggy writing.”

“... _ Who  _ says that?!”

“I do,” answers Herb smugly. “It’s how I remember North, South, East, and West.”

Joelle, walking into the trailer, raises an eyebrow. “Can’t you just  _ remember  _ it?” she asks, taking it upon herself to search through the cupboards of his trailer. BoJack doesn’t care, because he hasn’t cleaned out the cupboards in at  _ least  _ a year, but he still frantically gestures for her to stop. “You know, since you’re a math genius and all?” 

“Math genius?” asks Herb, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” says Joelle, not looking away from the cupboards. “You know, it’s kind of your whole thing? Bradley comes in with a math question and you answer it in half a second and once he’s run out you realise you probably just helped him cheat on his homework.”

Herb shoots her offended look. “You think  _ that’s  _ my whole thing?”

“That, Shakespeare, and apparently being  _ gay  _ now.” The sneer in that last part sounds more friendly than malicious, like Herb’s homosexuality is somehow an inside joke. 

Herb sighs in defeat. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m a math genius. We’re in a new era of writing.”

“I was going to ask if BoJack had a calculator I can borrow, except whenever I ask BoJack a question he gets weirdly irritated and doesn’t answer even if it’s not a secret, so I was going to look through his stuff, but now I guess I’ll just ask you. What’s seven hundred plus five hundred and eighty-five?”

“Twelve hundred and eighty-five,” answers Herb automatically. After a pause, he adds,  _ “Shit,  _ I just helped you cheat on your math homework, didn’t I?”

“Well, it’s actually  _ photography  _ class, but, yeah, kinda. In a very roundabout way.” She closes BoJack’s cupboards. “I’ll see you guys later.” She exits the trailer, closing the door behind her.

BoJack smirks. “So, how are you liking the demotion?”

“I’m not,” grumbles Herb. To emphasize just how much he  _ doesn’t  _ like it, he shifts in his spot, visibly struggling to get comfortable. “I miss the tapdancing. It helped me focus.”

“Really? It helped me  _ not  _ focus.”

“Eh, you get used to it after a while. And the  _ coffee!”  _ He groans dramatically. “If I wanted to get paid peanuts to set my hands on fire, I’d have worked in fast food.”

“The fact that you  _ haven’t  _ worked fast food is clear from the fact that you’re making such a big deal out of this.”

Herb tilts his head slightly. “Have  _ you  _ worked fast food?”

“No, but in freshman year I took an entire class on learning to put the lids on the coffee cups.”

“Ugh, I wish  _ I’d  _ gotten that class! It spills onto my fingers. I can’t handle heat!” 

“That’s the problem,” says BoJack, in a somewhat patronising tone. “If you keep touching hot stuff, then eventually, your hands will develop the callouses to not burn yourself.”

“If I don’t have to touch hot stuff, my hands won’t  _ need  _ callouses!” He rolls his eyes, then straightens up. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“I think I heard Probosc-shit coming.” When BoJack raises an eyebrow, he adds, “That’s my nickname for Danny Bananas;”

“Oh, shit.”

“You know what?” He grins. “I’ll flip him off. That’s a disgrace to him, if he lets me get away with it.” As the trailer door creaks open, he quickly raises his middle finger. 

Danny Bananas enters the trailer. “Hey, BoJack, just following up on that --” His gaze falls on Herb, curled up in a corner of the room. He frowns. “...Are you holding up your middle finger at me?” 

Herb retains a straight face. “I  _ am  _ holding up my middle finger.”

He narrows his eyes. “Are you holding up your middle finger at  _ me?” _

Beads of sweat drip down Herb’s face. He covers his mouth with his hand and whispers to BoJack, “Do you think Angela would back me up if I said yes?”

“No,” says BoJack bluntly.

Herb clears his throat. “I am  _ not  _ holding up my middle finger at you, sir,” he says definitively. “But I  _ am  _ holding up my middle finger, sir.”

Danny raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to start a fight?”

“Start a fight?” scoffs Herb, waving a hand dismissively, while the other hand is still flipping him off. “Of  _ course  _ not!”

“If you  _ are  _ trying to start a fight,” says Danny cautiously. “Then I’m your man. I’m as good a writer as you are.”

Herb grins, “No better?”

Danny Bananas suddenly turns very red and decides to ignore Herb, clearing his throat very awkwardly and turning to BoJack. “Anyway, I just wanted to see if you’d … read … those scripts?”

“Yeah, I did,” answers BoJack gruffly.

“That’s … good.” He hesitates. “Well, this conversation seems to have reached its natural conclusion.” He makes a swift exit.

Herb breathes a sigh of relief. “That went better than I expected.”

BoJack frowns. “You can’t keep picking fights with him.”

“I can if I’m confident enough.”

“You’ll get fired.”

“I think you’re underestimating my confidence.”

BoJack nudges him with his foot, or  _ attempts  _ to just nudge him, but it ends up being something closer to a kick. “Remember why you had to stay.” 

Herb sobers up almost immediately. The colour doesn’t drain from his face, but he does get a shade or two paler. “...Yeah.”

_ “How  _ are we going to get evidence against him?”

“I dunno,” says Herb numbly. “We’d have to either catch him in the act, or steal his camera before he can get rid of everything, I guess.”

“I do  _ not  _ want to walk in on the guy … doing  _ that  _ to her.”

“Yeah, but the evidence might not hold up in court if we have to steal a camera to get it.”

BoJack checks that all the windows and doors are closed. His voice drops to a whisper. “What if we just …  _ took  _ her?” Herb looks up, visibly surprised, and he rushes to explain. “Her mom  _ obviously  _ doesn’t give a shit about her. I’m rich enough to replace all her possessions. How hard can parenting  _ be?  _ We’ll just ask if she wants to come home with me, and then we can --”

“BJ, that’s  _ kidnapping.”  _

BoJack frowns. “It’s kidnapping for a good reason.”

“Yeah, I know! And you know what happens when you kidnap someone for a good reason?” He smacks himself in the forehead. “The parents call the cops, and you get arrested, and the kid goes back to the parents, and you’re not around to keep her safe.” He slams his head back against the table. “We can’t put our asses on the line to try and save her if it means we won’t be able to protect her when our grand schemes predictably fail.”

“...You’re right.” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to think we could do something.”   
“We  _ can  _ do something. We just have to wait for a chance, because jumping into things without planning might just make things worse.” He forces a smile. “And, we can help her by  _ being supportive.  _ She really needs that right now.”

“...Yeah.”

“I know you’re restless, but we’ll get her somewhere safe, I promise.” He grins. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Yeah, me too.” After a pause, he adds, “Only cross my heart though. I always hope to die.”


	3. Prickly Muffin

The first finished script after Herb’s outing and subsequent demotion is described by Danny Bananas as “a _great_ script, what are you talking about?” and by everyone else and their mother as “a steaming pile of shit”.

“I mean that literally,” adds BoJack irritably. “I told my mom about the episode’s plot and she said it was, and I quote, _‘finally_ an idea so horrific it matches your acting ability. I was getting sick of all the good writing being butchered by your attempts at comedy.’”

“Yeesh,” mutters Herb. “Does your mom _actually_ think you’re a shitty actor?”

“My mom thinks I’m a shitty _everything,”_ he answers, waving a hand dismissively. “Including a shitty singer, which is rapidly threatening to become problematic.” To emphasize his point, he flips to a particular page and points at it. “Was _this_ what you had in mind for our beloved ‘prickly muffin’?”

“A completely unexplained musical number with an even _more_ unexplained guest appearance by Rick Astley? No, I can’t say it was.” He pauses. “And if it _was_ a completely unexplained musical number, I think it’d be more broadway-style, you know?”

“Oh yeah, I totally agree.” 

“So, _what’s_ the musical number about?” 

“It’s a ridiculously convoluted explanation of where Sabrina’s nickname came from,” explains BoJack. “Which for some reason needs to involve standing on a table singing _opera,_ of all things.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’ve gotta pay the actors more if you expect them to have those skills.”

“And the actual _explanation_ for why we call her ‘prickly muffin’ is vague at best.” He frowns. “Why _do_ we call her prickly muffin?”

“Because Sabrina is based on my younger sister, and I called her a prickly muffin once when I was drunk. It stuck.” When BoJack raises an eyebrow at him, he adds, “My sister’s a sea urchin named Cupcake.”

“Oh.” He stares at the script. “Man, he _really_ butchered that origin, huh?”

“He _did!_ I’m offended.”

“It’s sort of a death-of-the-author thing, I guess.”

“You’re right, because this shit is gonna be the goddamn death of me.” He groans. “Well, we’ve just gotta grit our teeth and do it, I guess.”

 _“We?!”_ chokes BoJack. “You’re not even an actor. You won’t have to do _shit.”_

“No, Mr. Libertoire gets two lines in the musical number, see?” He points at a specific few lines on the page. His eyes widen. “Shit, what if _he_ starts voicing Mr. Libertoire?”

“I don’t think he’d be able to get away with that unless he’s a _seriously_ good voice actor. But this is _incredibly_ problematic!” He throws up his hands in frustration. “He wants me to _sing._ On TV! TV that my _mom_ will see!” He smacks himself in the forehead. “I haven’t let my mom hear me sing since goddamn sophomore year.”

Herb frowns. “Why not?”

“Well, in eighth grade, I botched a choir solo, and she got _pissed._ Then in freshman year, I asked her if I could join my high school’s choir, and she pretended not to know who I was for a week. So, I asked my dad, and he told me if I was going to do something that might make me a _queer_ I should just go ahead and kill myself.” After a pause in which Herb can do nothing but stare at him in blunt shock, he adds, “So then I joined the choir behind my mom’s back, and --”

“Woah,” says Herb, holding up a hand to stop him. “That is … a lot.”

“Yeah, freshman year was wild. Long story short, I got put into a class that exclusively taught us how to put lids on coffee cups as punishment.”

“I was wondering how the hell that would happen.” 

“Yeah, again. Freshman year.” He clears his throat. “I would rather _die_ than sing on TV. If my dad saw it, he’d probably disown me.”

“Ah, can’t have that,” deadpans Herb. “Who else would tell you to kill yourself?” There’s a pause. “Sorry, that was _incredibly_ insensitive, wasn’t it?”

“Absolutely. Say it again and I’ll kill _you.”_

“Sorry.”

“We should unionize!” He stands up straight. “Hey, Sarah Lynn! Bradley! Do you two want to unionize against Danny Bananas with me?”

Herb raises an eyebrow. “I’ll join the union, but did you forget Joelle exists?” 

“... _Whaaaaat?”_ exclaims BoJack, jaw dropping in shock at the accusation. He waves a hand dismissively. “Of _course_ not!” Herb narrows his eyes. “...I mean, who _doesn’t_ forget Joelle exists?”

“Thanks,” snaps Joelle sarcastically. “And, for the record, I don’t want to unionize. I _like_ the musical number.”

“Seriously?!” 

“What? I like theatre.” She turns to Herb. “What’s two hundred and eighty times four?”

“One thousand one hundred and twenty. Oh, shit.” He smacks himself in the forehead. “I just helped you cheat on your --”

“Photography homework? Yeah.”

“I was gonna say math, actually.”  
“Well, it’s photography.” She turns away from him, making a swift exit to the room.

BoJack groans. “Come _on,_ Herb, there’s got to be _some_ way I can get out of this dumb musical thing. Maybe you have, I dunno, some _connections?”_

“Connections?” repeats Herb, raising an eyebrow. “Uh, not sure if you heard, but I’m kind of universally hated now. Since I got outed as gay. It’s kind of a whole thing.”

“Well, maybe you have _gay_ connections?”  
  
Herb tilts his head. “I don’t know _what_ made you think there was, like, an all-powerful gay anti-musical army, but there isn’t. The only other gay guy I know is Jason.” 

BoJack frowns. “Who’s Jason?”

“My boyfriend. The guy whose dick I got caught sucking in a public bathroom.”

“Oh, what’s he like?” 

Herb’s eyes immediately light up. “He’s the _greatest,”_ he gushes. “We’ve known each other since, like, the _third_ grade. Course, I only found out he was a gay a couple months back, and things just -- fell into place, y’know?” He grins. “We moved in together a few weeks ago. Our landlord is _pissed_ and we’re on very thin ice.”

“Pissed that you’re gay?”

“Among other things. We once got drunk and bet fifty bucks we could swing from the chandelier, like, Tarzan-style. And I mean, I _paid_ for all the damages, but landlords are bitchy, I guess.”

“Yikes.” 

“For the record, I was a _way_ better Tarzan than him.”

“I mean, I’ll--”

He stops dead, mid-sentence. His fingers tighten around an orange juice carton that he stole from Sharona. Some part of his faulty brain learned to associate any sight or smell of Angela or her overly-bitterly coffee with _that_ conversation, the one where he found himself taking on the role of negotiator for Herbs’ deal with the devil, and he can’t even _begin_ to think about that conversation without remembering the one almost immediately before -- the one where Herb had pointed out that _somebody_ had to be looking after Sarah Lynn. Thinking about it still sends shivers down BoJack’s spine. He straightens up.

Angela removes the script from his hand like it was never his in the first place. “Change of plans,” she explains hurriedly. “We’re scrapping that entire train wreck of an episode, and we’ll make a few adjustments to episode two and then use that as episode one, and from there we’ll just move everything an episode forward until Danny Bananas gets his shit together.”

BoJack’s eyes light up. “Unionizing worked?”

“Yes,” says Angela in a tone that would be more fitted to getting Sarah Lynn to shut up about the miraculous gold coin under her pillow by saying that the tooth fairy _is_ real. “Unionizing worked.”  
  
“Wow,” says Herb. “Which member of the ‘Probosc-shit sucks’ union screwed that over?”

“Danny,” answers Angela dryly.

BoJack’s eyes widen. _“He_ was unionizing against himself?”

Herb snickers. “The rest of his face was unionizing against his nose.”

“Oh, I’ll join that union, for sure. If someone doesn’t get that thing under control it’ll declare itself an independent state.”

Angela clears her throat irritably. “Danny failed to factor in that teaching each of the actors how to sing opera would cost significantly more than our budget allows and delay our planned filming schedule by approximately several weeks. He has been given notice to correct this.” She hands BoJack an edited version of the planned episode two script, and then walks out of the room briskly.

BoJack stares after her. “...Woah.”

“You’d think he’d manage to at least _start_ without screwing up, wouldn’t you?”

“I mean, I kinda got the sense that he wasn’t meant to last, because there was no way he _could_ last. Maybe they were just gonna wait for the controversy to die down before they re-hire you.”

“Oh, if they put me through all the stress of thinking I’d get fired and then getting _demoted_ just to reveal that they were planning on putting me back in the writer’s chair, I’m gonna be _pissed.”_

“You’re already pissed with Angela.”  
“Who _isn’t_ pissed with Angela? She put Probosc-shit in charge, and I hate _him._ I hate everything about him. And every time he moves his head, his nose bobs around like an anime girl’s tits.”

“His nose is not _nearly_ as attractive as an anime girl’s tits.”

“I _wish_ you didn’t feel the need to make that addition.”

“It’s true! And his nose doesn’t have colourful hair, either. So really --”

“Mmm- _hmmm,”_ says Joelle loudly. They both swivel around to face her, Herb having the decency to turn slightly red. She clears her throat, gesturing toward herself, and toward Sarah Lynn, who is leaning against a wall a few feet away, staring at her shoes, visibly uncomfortable. “I _said,_ can either of you come to Sarah Lynn’s house with me tomorrow night? I don’t wanna be alone with her stepdad.”

Herb blinks. “What’s this about you being alone with her stepdad?”

“I’m going to Sarah Lynn’s house tomorrow night,” she explains. “And her mom’s out cheating on her stepdad, so it’ll just be us two and him. And that does _not_ sound good, y’know?” Completely oblivious to the way Sarah Lynn is now receding into herself, biting her lip, she adds, “So, yeah, can one of you two tag along, being a really uncool adult that ruins the mood if he tries anything because he’s a _creep?”_

“Hang on,” says BoJack. “This is _ridiculous.”_ He gestures vaguely, frowning. “Why doesn’t Sarah Lynn go to _your_ house? That way you _both_ get to be safe.”

“I can’t,” she explains lazily. “I need help with my assignment for photography class, and he’s the only person I know who knows shit about photography.”

Herb tilts his head. “What about your photography teacher?”

“Ugh, she…” She twirls a section of her hair irritably. “She’d think I’m _dumb_ for asking, okay? I don’t want my teacher to think I’m dumb.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” says BoJack, throwing his hands up in frustration. “There have _got_ to be more than two photographers in the entirety of California. There is no _way_ I’m --”

“BJ.” Herb nudges him in the ribs, snapping him out of his knee-jerk reaction. “Going with Joelle because she felt uncomfortable is a _great_ excuse to keep an eye on him, maybe get some evidence.”

He gives Herb a look. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

“I’m just saying! And, you _know_ how teenagers are. If we tell her not to go, she’ll just do it behind our back and end up putting herself in danger.”

“I’m right here, you know,” says Joelle indignantly, still ignoring Sarah Lynn behind her, who is clearly on the verge of tears. “So can you come, or not?”

“I’ll come,” says Herb definitively. He gives BoJack an expectant look.

BoJack hesitates, then sighs. “I’ll come too.”


	4. Shotgun

He’s never actually  _ been  _ to Sarah Lynn’s house, now that he thinks about it. Herb used to go there from time to time, to have coffee with her parents, in his endeavors to  _ get to know  _ the kids and their families, but BoJack never saw any point in attempting to get to know them. And he’s pretty sure Herb stopped visiting  _ right  _ after Sarah Lynn’s biological dad died, since her mother was so  _ impossible  _ to be in a room with without some kind of buffer, so they’re both a little  _ lost. _

BoJack  _ almost  _ quips that they’re fish out of water, but the last time he said that Herb responded by saying the  _ real  _ ‘fish-out-of-water’ scenario was back when he got kicked out by his seahorse family, and BoJack’s resulting “but  _ you’re  _ not a fish” snark almost gave him a full-blown identity crisis. So, he stays quiet.

Sarah Lynn leads them in through the front yard. It’s a fairly ordinary yard, with grass that was clearly mowed recently and is a  _ little  _ unnaturally green, but not bright enough to fall into the uncanny valley. There’s a small playground to one side, with a poorly-designed slide and a single swingset. Herb looks at it and pouts.

“They should make swings for adults.”

BoJack raises an eyebrow. “Why, who would use them?”

Herb looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Uh, adults?”

Joelle clears her throat irritably. “You’re too  _ old  _ for swings.”

“Hey, how do you know that?”

“Because you’re twice my age. And I’m fifteen in 1993, which is the year that it currently is.” She steps ahead of Sarah Lynn and knocks on the door. After a few moments, a bear with square glasses opens it. 

“...Oh.” He looks at Herb and BoJack. He narrows his eyes. “What are you two doing here?”

Herb rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Uh….”

“We’re … learning about photography,” says BoJack.

Terry Richardson raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirms. 

He hesitates, then opens the door a little wider and steps aside. “Come in.”

There’s an awkward pause. Sarah Lynn is the first to dare go inside, taking a seat on the long side of a rectangular wooden table in the centre of the room. Joelle, somewhat hesitantly, takes the seat immediately next to her. Herb sits across from them, as does BoJack, and Terry sits at the short end of the table. “So,” he begins. “What did you want to learn about photography?”

BoJack blinks. “...Umm…”

“We were really curious about, um,” begins Herb unpromisingly. “Uhhh….”

Joelle slams her head against the table. “The exposure triangle. We want to know about the exposure triangle.”

“Oh.” His demeanor immediately loses some of its stiffness as he launches into an explanation. It’s a long and exceptionally  _ boring  _ explanation, and BoJack is on the verge of falling asleep throughout the entirety of its duration. He once again made the mistake of staying up late when he  _ knew  _ he had work the next morning, which was always a struggle, but today, he can’t just stagger through his work day feeling like shit and take cocaine in the afternoon to keep him awake for the next several hours, which is rapidly becoming problematic. He  _ really  _ hopes Herb has more of a plan then he’s letting on, because BoJack is  _ not  _ on his A-game right now.

Just as he’s finished thinking that Herb had  _ better  _ be willing to pick up the slack so he can dwell in his own tiredness, a phone begins ringing loudly. Terry and Sarah Lynn both instinctively turn to their silent landline; Herb stands up awkwardly, holding his old-timey cell phone, which is modern by the standards of 1993, which is the current year. “Sorry, I -- I’ve gotta take this.” He sheepishly makes his way outside, beginning what sounds like a very tense phone conversation on his way out, and BoJack slams his head against the table and tries to sleep.

After a conversation that he mostly manages to tune out, he vaguely hears. “So, Joelle, do you have a boyfriend right now?”

He jolts.  _ Wake up. He’s trying to be a creep. You came here specifically to prevent this. _

He removes his head from the table and tries to wake himself back up. Joelle is rubbing her arm, visibly uncomfortable. “Uhhhh…”

“I don’t know if we need to talk about that,” says BoJack firmly, with  _ just  _ enough of an implied threat behind the remark to shut right up. He’s  _ tried  _ every other approach under the sun since Danny Bananas started being regularly present on-set, from the subtle “of  _ course  _ she doesn’t have a boyfriend, she’s just a  _ kid,”  _ to the convenient route of having to change the subject. There’s no amount of  _ gently reminding  _ the sick bastard that he’s talking about a minor that will help, because he already  _ knows  _ he’s talking about a minor, and he doesn’t  _ care.  _ The only thing that works is assuring him that this is  _ not  _ the time.

With Danny Bananas, it’s a little easier, because it’s  _ never  _ the time, because he’ll never have a chance to be alone with Joelle. Terry is different, and it makes his heart race.

The front door swings open. “Okay, Jason,” says Herb, very carefully, still on the phone, as he  _ storms  _ back in. “I’m in front of the kids now, so I can’t say anything  _ bad,  _ but --” He’s cut off by Jason saying something, and while he’s silent, Terry raises an eyebrow at him.

“Where are you going?” 

“Pacing through the house,” says Herb over his shoulder. “That’s what I  _ do  _ during phone calls.” He continues to storm through the house, and before long he’s out of earshot, though not before he’s distinctly heard saying the words “Well maybe you should try having a bigger dick, did you think of that, huh, Jason?!” 

There’s a long, awkward, silence.

“So,” says Joelle. “Have you, uhhh, gotten any, photography gigs, lately?”

“Oh, yes,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I actually recently took some photos for Bradley Hitler-Smith’s parents’ divorce, which was BoJack’s fault.”

BoJack blinks. “It was?”

“I was the photographer at their wedding, so it made sense for me to take photos for the divorce. Do you want to see?” He stands up.

Half of BoJack feels like there’s no way in  _ hell  _ he can scrape together the necessary energy to get up and walk through the house, and the other half feels like he  _ has  _ to get up and move because if he stays in the same position for much longer he’ll never be able to get out of it. He stands up. So do the girls.

Terry, apparently, is one of those pretentious assholes that has a  _ room  _ for his cameras. BoJack has never  _ seen  _ anything so utterly  _ unnecessary.  _ He  _ could  _ be using that room as a guest room, or a second living room, or a practice room for the child actress of the family, or  _ anything,  _ but instead it’s filled with  _ cameras,  _ of all things.

The  _ one  _ benefit to having such an utterly  _ pointless  _ room, BoJack realises a second too late, is that if someone was looking for cameras, or specifically looking for  _ Terry Richardson’s  _ cameras, well, it would be  _ incredibly  _ easy for them to figure out where to find them.

Whatever argument he was having with Jason is apparently irrelevant as he silently stares into the screen of a digital camera --  _ digital  _ being unusually modern in 1993, which is the current year. 

After a pause, Herb turns, sees Terry and the others staring at him, and all the colour drains from his face.

There’s no clatter of the camera hitting the floor, but it presumably ends up falling at some point in the chaos that immediately ensues. Herb makes a beeline for the door, managing to take Terry off guard with his sheer  _ confidence  _ in attempting an escape, and dashes across the hallway. Everyone’s  _ stunned,  _ but BoJack in all his sleep deprivation gets the worst of it, and by the time he realises he’s meant to  _ help  _ right now, Terry has already run after him. Gesturing for the kids to stay back, he follows in the same general direction, and finds a room he has to presume belongs to Sarah Lynn -- walls painted lavender, small bed with a magenta quilt cover and too many plush animals, a crudely-drawn picture of himself and Herb sticky-taped to one wall. He swears he hears  _ something,  _ but before he can figure out what it is, what he  _ sees  _ leads him to presume it was nothing.

“And I really am sorry,” he continues profusely, while both Terry and BoJack stare at him in blunt shock thinking about how he has  _ balls  _ to try and both run and lie his way out of this. “I was just  _ admiring  _ your  _ excellent  _ photography, but when I realised how badly I’d screwed up by looking through your camera without your consent, I freaked out and just,  _ ran.  _ I’m really sorry.”

Terry raises an eyebrow. “Uhh…”

“And now that I have revitalised my interest in photography, I’m  _ inspired  _ to learn more.” He grins. “So, what do you say we go back to teaching?”

He says it with such confidence that Terry doesn’t know how to refuse. That he  _ can’t  _ refuse. So, BoJack’s racing heart gets the unexpected medicine of a lecture that threatens to bore him to sleep again.

* * *

He does a  _ damn  _ good job at being just awake enough to  _ pretend  _ he’s listening while being asleep enough to tune out every word. If he got a dollar for every thing he learns about photography, he’d have fifteen cents. He does his best to ignore every potential valuable lesson he could and should be learning right now, and instead stands up in the middle of Terry’s sentence and murmurs vaguely, “Bathroom.”

Sarah Lynn frowns. “But you don’t know where the bathroom is.”

“I’ll figure it out,” says BoJack, secretly planning to piss in a plant.

Herb clears his throat. “I’ll show you, I’ve been here before.”

BoJack feels his face burning. He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, there can only  _ be  _ so many other rooms to check before I find the bathroom, so --”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll show you.” He stands up. Terry and the kids stare at him, and BoJack can  _ see  _ the redness in his cheeks as he realises just how  _ bad  _ this looks, so he clears his throat again, and in an effort to make it look less unusual, he adds, “We will not be having any gay sex.” And with that  _ surely  _ dispelling any thought to the contrary, he drags BoJack down the hallway.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, BoJack hisses, “Dude, what the hell?!” 

“If he tries anything we’ll be able to hear it,” says Herb dismissively. “And, I had to find some excuse to get you alone.” He opens the door to Sarah Lynn’s bedroom. BoJack briefly scans the room for a plant he could piss in before he realises that even if he can find one, it would just be  _ too weird. _

By the time he’s come to this conclusion, Herb is under the bed.

Groaning, but not even bothering to question it, he dives under the bed with him. “You’d better have a good explanation for this,”

“The camera,” he explains. “I need to find the camera.”

_ “Why  _ would the camera be under Sarah Lynn’s bed?”

“Because I tossed it against the wall when I realised I couldn’t just  _ run away  _ from Terry and expect that to solve the problem. Duh!” He continues to fumble around feeling for the camera. “C’mon, help me find it. We don’t have much time.”

BoJack’s eyes widen. “So the fight with your boyfriend was a cover-up?”

“No, that was very real. It just happened to double as an excellent cover-up.” He gestures vaguely. “Jason’s  _ great,  _ and all, he just has some …  _ questionable  _ political opinions.”

BoJack narrows his eyes. “Questionable how?”

“Oh, you know, he’s one of those people that  _ doesn’t like talking about politics.  _ Because, y’know, it always causes fights? So you sort of have to narrow your eyes and ask him if he’s considered that maybe they’re fighting him because his opinions are  _ horrible,  _ and he says of  _ course  _ not, and you do the back-and-forth for a bit until at one point you just have to say, ‘so what  _ are  _ your political opinions’ and, uhh, it turns out he has a  _ lot  _ of opinions but the only one you can hear before you offend him by bursting into laughter at the absurdity of it all is ‘eating disorders are good, actually’.”

“That’s not even political!”

_ “Exactly!”  _ He sighs in relief.  _ “Finally,  _ someone gets it.”

“Yeah, I can’t even  _ begin  _ to imagine how you end up in an argument like that. Your boyfriend sounds like a jackass.”

“Yeah, well…” He gestures vaguely, still trying to find the camera. “Eh, it is what it is.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s not so bad.” In his effort to help find the camera, he accidentally moves a little closer to Herb. “Man, this is  _ not  _ how I planned to spend my night.”

“To be fair, I don’t think anyone ever plans this stuff.”

“Oh, my nights never go according to plan. But in terms of going off the rails -- I mean, we’re lying under Sarah Lynn’s bed looking for a camera under the pretense of going to the bathroom and everyone probably thinks we’re having gay sex. This is just unparalleled.”

“We’re paralleled by both the floor and the bed, actually.”

“I still need to piss! This was a  _ terrible  _ plan.” 

“You can piss after we find the camera.”

“That’ll take too long. They’ll get suspicious.”

“Suspicious of us having gay sex, not suspicious of us searching under Sarah Lynn’s bed for evidence of a crime. Sometimes if you want to protect a child from sexual abuse, you have to live with everyone thinking you’re gay and hating you for it.”

“Joelle is  _ never  _ going to let us hear the end of this.”

“Actually, Joelle’s been weirdly cool about the whole gay thing.” He shrugs slightly. “It’s weird, I  _ expected  _ her to tease me about it like she does everything else, but she hasn’t brought it up since I got outed.”

“Her mom probably told her not to mention it.”

“Her mom probably still thinks I got fired. And she’s probably  _ glad.”  _ He shudders. “Yeesh, I hate remembering that everyone hates me.”

BoJack frowns, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “You know, it must be really hard, you know?” He chuckles uneasily. “Like, everyone hates you, and you got demoted to an assistant on the show  _ you created,  _ and your boyfriend is kind of an --”

“Found it!” He cuts off BoJack’s concern immediately, holding up the camera. He attempts to sit up and instead bangs his head on the bottom of the bed. After a pause, he crawls out from under the bed and hides it in his sock. “Okay, we’ve got what we need. It’s Joelle’s turn to ride shotgun on the way home, are you gonna throw a hissy fit about that?”

BoJack jolts. He doesn’t hit his head on the bedframe, but he does bump it on the wall behind him, and hit his left leg on one of the legs of the bed. “I  _ don’t  _ ride in the back.”

“Yeesh, I will, then. You drive. I promised Joelle she’d get shotgun.”

“I’m too sleep-deprived to drive.” He crawls out from under the bed and burps. “Also, I’m tipsy.”

“You’re always tipsy.”

“I  _ don’t  _ ride in the back.” There’s a firmness in his voice that makes Herb flinch.

He frowns. “BJ--”

“Ugh, whatever.” He crosses his arms, standing up. “I’ll just get a goddamn cab home.”


	5. Sky High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man i really do have the most controversial opinions in this tiny sector of the fandom don't i? i'm just determined to go against the curb. i say the ship name is bojerb, everyone else has clearly decided it's boherb. i think herb should be homophobic and bojack should go to super hell, the rest of the fandom has decided definitively that herb goes to super hell. i think child abuse is bad, other people in this fandom think that not only is it not *that* bad but that they're now going to abuse a child specifically because i said that was bad.
> 
> i'm joking about that last one. well, i'm not *totally* joking, but it only happened once. (and uhh, to that person, if you're reading this ... stop reading. i'm serious. you're a fully grown adult you've got better shit to do with your time then read fanfiction written by a teenager on the internet that you no longer speak to because they called you out for being shitty. go file your taxes or something.)

He  _ doesn’t  _ get a goddamn cab home, for a reason he can’t satisfactorily explain, that probably has something to do with the way Herb looks at him like he’s  _ clearly  _ just being difficult when he threatens it a second time immediately before they prepare to leave in a desperate attempt to manipulate Joelle into rescinding her declaration of riding shotgun. 

Joelle, of course, does no such thing.

So BoJack clambers into the back seat of Herb’s car, and he crosses his arms and pouts the entire way, and by the time Herb offers to let him have the front seat after they’ve dropped Joelle off he’s already in such a foul mood that he refuses to budge.

Herb frowns at him in the rear vision mirror. “You sure?” There’s an implied addition that this is his last chance, since he can only keep his car in Joelle’s driveway for so long before it begins to become  _ weird.  _

“Just take me home,” he snaps. 

Herb rolls his eyes and accelerates out of Joelle’s driveway. 

The rest of the drive home, without Joelle’s incessant chatter about photography class, goes by in a blur -- an excruciatingly  _ slow  _ blur. He can feel each second pass by at a snail’s pace and yet he can’t quite describe what  _ happens  _ in any given second. It all blends together into an indistinct  _ blob  _ of time, a particularly  _ unpleasant  _ blob of time in which he’s  _ trapped  _ in the back seat of Herb’s shitty car, and then it pulls up in his driveway.

During the drive, he wants nothing more than to get out of the stupid thing. Once he opens the door, he suddenly doesn’t want to leave.

On his way to his front door, he pauses awkwardly leaning on Herb’s car door window. He feels like the way he’s looming over him, standing up while he sits in the car, must be even more intimidating than their usual height difference, but he can’t crouch without it feeling patronising, so he just hopes it’s not as bad as he thinks it is. “Thanks for the lift.”

Herb crosses his arms. “Don’t knw why you didn’t just get a cab.”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I’m -- I’m sorry for being such a jackass about Joelle wanting shotgun.”

“It’s -- it’s fine.  _ I’m  _ sorry for being a dick about it.”

BoJack frowns. “You weren’t being a dick.

Herb gives him a strange look, one that seems to say  _ there's no way I'm stupid enough to believe that,  _ but shakes his head and says nothing on the matter. “I’ve gotta go. My boyfriend’s expecting me.”

An  _ impulse  _ runs across BoJack’s mind. Part of him is tempted, so  _ incredibly  _ tempted, to grab Herb’s arm through the open window and say,  _ “Screw  _ your boyfriend.” To invite him inside, and what they would  _ do  _ inside is a mystery he can never hope to answer, but part of him  _ has  _ to invite Herb in,  _ now. _

Instead, he waits silently and uncertainly for a few moments, and then Herb drives off.

* * *

Once inside, he instinctively picks up his phone. He tries to tell himself he doesn’t know who he’s calling, but the fact that he immediately gives up on talking to anyone after Sharona hangs up is rather telling.  _ It doesn’t matter. You can get drunk by yourself. _

_ Oh yeah, cause that’s not pathetic at all. _

_ You’re getting shitfaced the night before work because you didn’t have the balls to tell a teenager that you always have to have shotgun, and you’re worried about being pathetic for being alone? _

He shakes his head. He  _ does,  _ to his credit, manage to resist the temptation to get out the booze, for about thirty-two and a half minutes. During that time, he has a quick shower, gets dressed, and after a while he’s  _ glad  _ he decided to put off the urge. His never-ending thirst for alcohol is an urge that comes and goes, and often all he has to do is tell himself he’ll just wait another half hour before he drinks and then he doesn’t need to at all -- because he’s remembered he has harder drugs. 

So, he injects the  _ craziest  _ shit he can find into his veins, and embarks on a series of increasingly regrettable phone calls.

* * *

“I, I’m really sorry to bother you like this,” he slurs, staggering around as far as the phone cord will allow him to. “I just, I know you probably don’t even know who I  _ am,  _ but --”

“I  _ do  _ know who you are --”

He ignores her. “And, again, ‘m really sorry, but I just couldn’t live with myself until I asked you.” He burps. “Do you secretly hate me?”

There’s a long pause before Princess Carolyn answers. “I don’t even know how to respond to this.” 

“I had to ask.”

“No, you didn’t.” She groans. “I definitely know who you are. We’re coworkers. I’ve  _ spoken  _ to you.”

“You have?” he questions, frowning. “I don’t, I don’t remember.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t really expect you to. I went to your house to deliver a script two months ago, but you were passed out in the front yard, covered in tapioca pudding.”

“...Oh.”

“So I hosed you down, dragged you inside, and covered you with a blanket.” There’s a pause. “I also went to introduce myself to you when you were filming the episode where Olivia uses too much detergent, but you said you were too tired from being nice all day and to leave you alone.”

“...Okay, that one I  _ should  _ remember.”

“But, you don’t. Why do you think I secretly hate you?” 

He thinks it over for a moment. “Well, when I called it was just pointless unprompted anxiety, but  _ now,  _ I’m kinda starting to think you would have genuine reason to.”

“I would. But I don’t. So are you going to say any more stupid bullshit, or can we end this conversation?”

BoJack thinks for a moment. “Y’know,” he says. “I think the  _ Horsin’ Around  _ cast needs more diversity.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” He grins. “Herb should be homophobic.”

“...Sorry?”

“Herb should be homophobic,” he repeats. “And I should go to super-hell.”

“...It was nice talking to you, BoJack.” She hangs up. BoJack stares at the phone for a moment, looking dejected, and then with none of the hesitation he  _ should  _ have, calls his mother to spend an hour and a half arguing over whether Herb is  _ corrupting  _ him.

It doesn’t bother him at this point. They were having those arguments  _ long  _ before Herb got outed.

* * *

It’s not until late at night that he even  _ remembers  _ to call Herb. He doesn’t expect him to even be awake to pick up, but, he is. “Hey, BJ.”

“Hey,” he slurs back.

“Any luck with that camera?”

“Couldn’t find anything incriminating. Had to throw it in the garbage can of the unisex bathroom in a KFC, immediately before my boyfriend got us kicked out of KFC.”

“Yeesh.”

“Yeah, it was a wreck.” His voice quivers somewhat. “Hey, BJ?”

“Yeah?” 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” He’s audibly on the verge of tears. BoJack notices that, but isn’t sure what to do about it.

“No,” he says numbly. “Why? Should I?”

From the long silence, he can gather that that was probably  _ not  _ the right response. The tension in the air grows thicker and thicker over the course of several moments, and just when BoJack’s about to say the first thing that comes to his drug-addled mind just to  _ stop  _ it, Herb steps in to save him. “...Good talk, BJ.”

He hangs up. 

BoJack briefly considers calling him back. Instead, he puts the phone back, and goes upstairs to his room. At no point does he  _ remember  _ hitting his head, but he can barely remember half of what happens to him at the best of times, and once he starts seeing stars, he latches onto it as a potential explanation because a concussion will be a more professional excuse for his headache tomorrow morning than admitting that he just got high off his ass.

When he realises that excuse is weak at best, he tries for another one.  _ Maybe someone stole my house.  _ This excuse would be worse than the last even if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s  _ in  _ his house, so he gives up. 

He’s  _ somewhat  _ used to this at this point -- enough that when he realises he’s so hammered he’s hallucinating a starry sky all over his bedroom walls, he only freaks out for a second, and is then able to forget the implications of liver damage and focus on the fact that it’s rather aesthetically pleasing. He stumbles into his bed and lies down, still wearing his clothes, fully aware that he’s probably going to pass out for a good twelve hours and end up late to work with a splitting headache, but uncertain how to save himself from this self-imposed fate.

So, he just lies down, drooling slightly, and tries to sleep. He tries sleeping on his side at first, but having to see his own furniture and all of his clothes on the floor when he’s tripping makes his mind go to  _ weird  _ places, and after the third time in a row he  _ swears  _ his sneakers are about to jump into the air and roundhouse kick him in the face, he rolls over onto his back so that he’s parallel to the ceiling as he watches the imaginary constellations, and --  _ oh. _

_...Oh. _

...Oh  _ shit. _

* * *

“Maybe something stronger?” suggested BoJack unhelpfully. “When I want to ignore my problems, I do mushrooms. The thing where you lie on your back staring at the ceiling tripping  _ balls,  _ watching all the cool hallucinations?” He grinned. “Man, that is unparalleled.”

“It’s paralleled by both the floor and the ceiling,” deadpanned Herb. “but I get what you mean. No drugs for me, though. I’ll stick to a drink or two.”

BoJack raised an eyebrow. “You think the ceiling and the floor are better than tripping balls?”

“No, I meant -- forget it.” 

* * *

Just before the world slips away into darkness and drugs, BoJack manages to grin. He can’t figure out why it’s making him so  _ giddy,  _ but it is. He’s paralleled,  _ literally,  _ by both the floor and the ceiling.

He  _ finally  _ got the joke.

The last thing he thinks, before he falls asleep for what will probably be around twelve restless and greatly inconvenient hours, is that Herb will think he’s  _ so  _ clever for getting it.


	6. it's a typical tuesday night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should probably warn that this chapter and the next one have some themes of emotional abuse

Olivia walks down the stairs.

That’s all that happens. That’s  _ all  _ it needs to be. Olivia walks down the stairs, and she’s clutching the rail the entire way, a section of blonde hair shielding her face from the cameras, stumbling a little on her gangly pubescent legs. She walks down the stairs, and then, she’s at the bottom of the staircase. Her next scripted action will be to ask Sabrina why she brushes her teeth in the fridge.

The director looks at Joelle. He looks at the script. He looks at Joelle. “...Cut.”

Joelle groans emphatically. “What is it  _ this  _ time?!”

The director gives her an apologetic look. “Well,” he explains. “You haven’t  _ totally  _ nailed the idea the script called for, but, the script is vague at best, and also weirdly pedophilic.”

She crosses her arms stubbornly. “It’s not  _ pedophilia  _ unless I’m a kid.”

“You  _ are  _ a kid,” says BoJack.

“I am not! I’m a  _ teenager.  _ That’s  _ totally  _ different.”

“Okay, but you’re  _ fifteen.” _

“I’m  _ almost --” _

BoJack ignores her, clearing his throat. “So, is anyone gonna yell at Probosc-shit for this one, or are we just going to ignore the needles sexualisation of the underage actress?”

Bradley raises an eyebrow. “Probosc-shit?”

“It’s our nickname for Danny Bananas,” he explains.

“Why?”

“...I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “It was Herb’s idea.” He frowns. “Where’s Herb?”

He waits for Herb to reveal that he’s  _ actually  _ been in the room the whole time, just unnoticed due to his height or lack thereof. No such thing happens. He looks around. “Where’s Herb? “ he repeats.

“He’s probably taking coffees to idiots or something,” says Joelle.

“No, no, I haven’t seen him all day. Where  _ is  _ he?”

“Ugh, why do you  _ care?” _

BoJack frowns, for a different reason this time. “I dunno.”

The director pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m gonna go have a chat with Danny. Back in ten.”

BoJack, knowing any attempt at criticising Danny will actually take at  _ least  _ half an hour, heads outside for a smoke.

* * *

He’s come damn close to smoking the thing down to the filter when he sees the familiar car out of the corner of his eye. His head turns sharply. He’s proven right a second later when it pulls up in the car park and the door opens; Herb clambers out, a scowl on his face.

BoJack raises an eyebrow. “You’re late.” 

Herb looks up, frowning. “And you’re outside.”

“The director’s trying to talk sense into Probosc-shit, so I’m on break. What are you doing here so late?”

“I slept in,” he explains, waving a hand dismissively. “I was up late last night.”

BoJack, who spent most of last night vividly hallucinating that his house had become a planetarium in between highly regrettable phone calls, finds this to be a somewhat weak excuse. “Oh, your  _ poor  _ thing.”

“Shut it,” snaps Herb, clearly not in the mood for jokes. “I’ve had the  _ worst  _ day.”

“It’s only, like, ten in the morning.”

“Okay, one, I’m only  _ just  _ getting to work, and two, I meant day as in the last twenty-four hours. Jason and I are  _ still  _ fighting.”

BoJack raises an eyebrow. “Over whether or not eating disorders are bad?”

“No, that fight ended a while ago.” BoJack narrows his eyes. “Well, it didn’t really end. It just drifted into other, more inflammatory topics, which we then got distracted screaming at each other about, and the original issue never  _ actually  _ got resolved, but I’m pretty sure we’re both going to pretend it never happened.”

“Yeesh.”

“This one started as a fight about whether or not child abuse makes you a bad person, but  _ now,  _ it’s a fight about a totally irrelevant fight we had a month ago, which basically happened because I suggested that he try to avoid making jokes at the expense of things I’m genuinely insecure about, and he responded by guilting me about how I leave him with  _ no choice  _ but to make jokes at the expense of things I’m genuinely insecure about, and as punishment gave me the silent treatment for two weeks and let me think he was in danger because of me.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“So now, he’s basically screaming at me about how I’m such a burden and it’s impossible to love me and I’m destroying his life.”

“Are you  _ sure  _ you should be dating this person?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’ll -- it’ll all blow over. I mean, it’ll give me  _ countless  _ sleepless nights, and continue to chip away at my self-esteem for an indeterminate amount of time, but apart from that, it’s really no big deal.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” He grins. “Sounds like you’ve got some anger you need to let out. Want to yell at Danny Bananas?”

Herb narrows his eyes. “I’m always willing to yell at Probosc-shit, but I also feel like this is you trying to get me to do the hard job so that you won’t have to.”

“When have I  _ ever  _ done that?” Herb gives him a look. “Okay, I have in fact done that more times than I can count. But if you’re yelling at Probosc-shit, then you’re not dragging coffees around.”

“Ugh, fine.” Sighing, he walks into the building. “So what do I need to yell at Danny Bananas for?”

“Well….” He rubs the back of his neck nervously, then fishes a folded script out of his pocket. “I’m pretty sure you’ll get it once you see it.” He flips to the correct page, and then hands the script over.

Herb reads it.

He  _ attempts  _ to read it silently, and with a straight face, but when the line, “she breasted boobily toward the stairs, and titted downwards,” shows up and it’s only  _ barely  _ out of place with the rest of the description of Olivia’s actions, he’s compelled to narrate it aloud. “Well, first of all, you’re not meant to write scripts in the past tense.”

“You’re not meant to write scripts featuring a completely gratuitous description of what the underage character’s  _ boobs  _ are doing as she goes about her day-to-day life.”

“Yeah, that was gonna be my second point.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.  _ “Somebody  _ has got to tell this guy exactly where he can shove it.”

“Well,  _ yeah,  _ that’s kinda where you come in.”

“Where is he?”

“I dunno, check his office?”

“It should be  _ my  _ office!” 

“Yes, but it isn’t. Let’s go.” 

Herb crosses his arms in disgust the second they’re close enough to hear the tap dancing. BoJack, not daring to risk his job, stands just out of sight as Herb knocks on the door. When it opens a second later, both Danny Bananas and the director are staring at him expectantly, clearly in the middle of an unsuccessful argument.

“Okay,” says Herb bluntly. “This is  _ bullshit.” _

Danny blinks. “Excuse me?”

“This,” repeats Herb, waving the script. “Is  _ bullshit.  _ And the only reason it’s been allowed to make it this far into the script, past all the editing and revising, is because nobody’s had the balls to look you in the eye and  _ say  _ that it’s bullshit. So, I’m having the balls now.” He makes unbreaking eye contact as he slams the script onto the desk that  _ used  _ to be his. “Joelle is a  _ child,  _ a child that  _ you have power over,  _ and you’re writing her character like she’s some sort of  _ sex godess,  _ and if you can’t see why that’s a  _ huge  _ problem, then you are  _ not  _ fit to be working with kids.”

Danny Bananas rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Uhh…”

“And if you think  _ Olivia’s  _ attractive, then that must mean you think  _ Joelle  _ is attractive, and  _ oh,”  _ He steps closer. BoJack hesitantly sticks his head in the doorway to get a better look. One thing BoJack’s often noticed about Herb is that he barely scrapes five foot two, but he’s able to stand  _ over  _ people significantly taller than that. When he’s confident, he manages to seem a few inches taller than he really is, but when he’s  _ angry,  _ he makes whoever’s invoked his wratch wilt where they stand. “If you haven’t got a less sexualised script for me in thirty minutes, I will get you fired. And if you  _ ever  _ try  _ anything  _ with Joelle, or any of the other kids, I will  _ fucking  _ kill you.”

During the long, ominous silence that follows, he turns to leave the office. “So,” BoJack whispers. “How are you  _ actually  _ gonna get him fired? You’re an assistant now.”

“Doesn’t matter,” replies Herb grimly. “Now that I’ve said it, I won’t have to. By the time he realises I have no power over him, he’ll have already fixed the script.”

BoJack’s eyes widen in admiration. “Wow, you’ve got  _ balls.” _

“...Yeah.” He sighs. “It’s nice, y’know. Being all confident at work. But then I go home and I’m just, so  _ uncertain…  _ I can’t stand my ground. I don’t even know what I’m fighting for.”

BoJack frowns. “Huh?”

“It’s -- it’s nothing. Just shit with Jason. Don’t worry about it.” He takes a deep breath. Just as he’s preparing to leave, Danny Bananas exits the office.

“Thank you, Herb,” he says, surprisingly sincerely. “You’ve really given me something to think about.”

Herb doesn’t look at him. “You don’t  _ need  _ to think about whether or not pedophilia is bad.”

“And, I’m going to fix up my writing  _ right now.” _

“You’d better.”

“I’m  _ not  _ going to portray Joelle as attractive.” He grins proudly. “In fact, I’m going to portray her as  _ un- _ attractive.”

Herb swivels around to face him. “Wait, what?” 

“Well, seeing minors as attractive is bad, right?” His grin widens. “So, obviously the solution to that problem is to absolutely  _ hate  _ minors, to just see them as the  _ scum  _ of the earth, and so  _ unbelievably  _ ugly, ugh -- I’m gonna make fat jokes about Joelle.”

Herb raises an eyebrow. “But Joelle’s not even fat.”

“I’ll find a way around that!” He grins. “It’s what good writers do.”

“As a good writer, I’m pretty sure that’s  _ not _ what we do.” He groans. “I’m not going to be able to talk you out of putting a  _ stick-thin  _ girl in front of  _ everyone  _ who watches TV and calling her fat until it destroys her self-esteem, as well as the self-esteem of literally everyone who watches her, am I?”   
“Probably not.”

“Well, at least I tried.” He takes a deep breath, and walks off. 

BoJack hurries to catch up with him. “Uhh, aren’t you gonna --”

“No,” he snaps. “I’m an assistant. I’m already doing more than I have to, and I’m tired, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”

BoJack’s eyes widen. “Woah, you seem depressed as shit.”

“I told you, it’s -- it’s  _ fine.”  _ He crosses his arms. “It’s none of your  _ business  _ what’s going on in my relationship, anyway.”

“Hey, I never said anything about your relationship. I’m just worried about  _ you,  _ because you’re acting  _ super  _ weird.” He pauses. “That said, if we  _ are  _ going to talk about your relationship, can we talk about how your boyfriend  _ sucks?  _ He sounds like my goddamn dad.”

“No, we can’t!” He throws up his hands in frustration. “I don’t  _ need  _ a goddamned homophobic lecture.”

“Homophobic? No, I’m just -- I’m worried about you.”

“Oh, since when do  _ you  _ worry about anyone?”

BoJack can’t help but wince. Part of him knows that Herb is  _ right  _ to be skeptical, that BoJack probably hasn’t unironically  _ cared  _ about anyone’s mental health for years, and for crying out loud, he didn’t even  _ ask  _ how he was doing back when he got outed, so  _ really  _ this is on him. In fact, it would be  _ much  _ more in character for him to just be  _ pretending  _ to be worried about someone to hide his own homophobia. But, he’s  _ not  _ homophobic, because he thinks being gay is  _ fine  _ as long as it’s not him -- if  _ he  _ was gay, that would be representative of his own personal failure to impress his imposible-to-please parents. But, he isn’t. So, it’s fine.

He takes a deep breath. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“...Yeah, I’ll -- I’ll be fine. This’ll all blow over.” He smiles weakly. “Sorry for getting all emotional.”

BoJack raises an eyebrow. “Uh, you weren’t emotional at all.”

Herb looks at him with wide eyes, frowning. After a long, painful silence, he mutters, “Oh, knock it off, BJ.”

“Knock  _ what  _ off?”

Herb twitches. He turns his body away from BoJack. “You’d better go back. They should be re-starting filming soon. And I’ve got assistant shit to do.”

BoJack hesitates. “...Okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“Yeah. See you later.”

“...Take care.”

Herb doesn’t respond.


	7. Your Best Life

He wakes up at some point between three AM and five AM, in a cold sweat that he knows he won’t be bothered to shower off. He spends about as long as he’s physically and mentally able to staring at the ceiling, the spectacularly _ boring  _ ceiling without any drugs in his system to give it the added decoration of a particularly vivid trip, before he gets up and begins the long process of  _ thinking  _ about getting ready for work.

He turns on his television. Of course, any show that plays between midnight and seven in the morning is doomed by nature, so everything that the producers have scheduled for this hour is so  _ boring  _ that it never had a chance of being liked. The first thing BoJack sees when the television turns on is the words “Two weeks later” in a highlighter yellow font against a background that’s an eye-strain-inducing shade of red, but that’s  _ no _ use at all to BoJack, since he doesn’t know what it’s two weeks later than. Though, come to think of it, it  _ has  _ been two weeks exactly since Herb called Danny Bananas out. But, that’s obviously not what the show is about, so he resigns himself to being unable to figure out the necessary context to understand, and leaves the room.

He discovers that his answering machine, which is his one way of receiving messages over the phone since texting isn’t a thing in 1993, has recorded a voicemail message overnight. He listens to it in the pitch black darkness that comes from his own irrational idea that he’d be sabotaging his own sleep schedule by turning a light on to wake him up properly, but he isn’t doing that already by being awake.

_ “Hey, BJ. It’s Herb. I, uh -- I get that this is probably annoying as shit, y’know, getting a voicemail at one in the goddamn morning. I’m sorry. It just couldn’t wait. Well, it  _ can _ wait, and it’s gonna have to wait since you’re asleep, but -- but  _ I  _ couldn’t wait to say it. So, yeah, here I am, staying up to monologue to an actual  _ person  _ who’s gonna wake up and hear it. Ugh. I wish I could delete this. If I wake up early enough, I’m probably gonna call you and lie to you about what this message is so you delete it. Harsh, I know. _

_ “Anyway, so, here’s the thing. Ugh, why do people say that? Okay, now you can  _ tell  _ I’m just ranting on and on because I’m anxious. It’s such a  _ dumb  _ thing to say. ‘Here’s the thing’? Just  _ say _ the thing. We’re already familiar with the idea that there will  _ be  _ a  _ thing.  _ We don’t need to introduce it. _

_ “Sorry, got off topic. Anyway, the  _ thing  _ is that, uh… I’m technically homeless. That sounds bad. It’s not bad. It’s, like, it’s  _ rich  _ homeless, where you’re trying to find a place but you can  _ afford  _ this motel room pretty much indefinitely so it’s really not that big a deal. Not like being broke and homeless. It’s  _ really _ not a big deal. _

_ “Anyway, uh, I’m looking at this apartment kinda close by the filming lot. It’ll take a while to get it finalised, of course, but, uh -- I’ll need someone to help me move all my shit out. So, uh, basically -- can you give me a hand there? It’s fine if you can’t, it’s just -- too much work for one person. _

_ “I’m really bad at ending voicemails. So, uh ... bye.” _

There’s a long  _ beep  _ to indicate that the message is over. BoJack considers calling him back, then decides he can’t be bothered. Instead, he cautiously sniffs his own armpits to see if he can get away with not showering today. He  _ can’t, _ but that’s never stopped him before.

* * *

_ A few hours later  _ is the title of the prop book he tosses aside in his attempts to leave the set quickly, coincidentally a few hours after hearing Herb’s voicemail. The  _ second  _ he hears mention of a lighting issue, he’s out of there. The first place he looks is a cupboard that’s suspiciously just  _ slightly _ open; when he opens it, he finds Joelle crouched inside, resting an A4 exercise book against her knees, sketching an unfamiliar rabbit woman on the lined paper. She looks up at him with wide eyes and a bright red face. “What are  _ you  _ doing here?”

“Looking for Herb,” he answers bluntly. “What are  _ you _ doing here?”

“Drawing my photography teacher.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “So, do you also take photos of your art teacher? Ugh, forget it.” He closes the cupboard door and walks off. 

He finds Herb some fifteen minutes of looking later, after being told the cameraman is looking for him at least twice, in the janitor’s closet, of all places, smoking a cigarette. “Okay, what the  _ hell  _ are you doing here?”

“I’m trying to get some  _ alone  _ time,” snaps Herb. ”What are  _ you  _ doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

“Well, you found me.” He takes in a deep breath of cigarette smoke. “How’d you even know I was at work?” 

“Your car was in the car park.”

“You recognised my car?”

“Your car’s so old I’m surprised it hasn’t fossilized yet. It sticks out like a sore thumb.” He shudders. “It’s the same model as the one my eighth grade pianist had. You’re, like, twenty years behind the times.”

“Aren’t we all?” He rolls his eyes. “So, why were you looking for me?” 

“Uh…” He raises an eyebrow. “Well, you _ kinda  _ left me a long voicemail at one AM about how you were  _ technically  _ homeless and you needed help moving your stuff, and --”

“Oh.” His face falls. “I was hoping you wouldn’t listen to that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, usually you just ignore my voicemails.”

“...You’ve left me voicemails before this?”

“Case in point.” He smacks himself in the forehead. “So, yeah, my boyfriend -- my  _ ex _ -boyfriend kicked me out. No big deal. It’s just be  _ so  _ awkward to go back by myself to get my stuff, so …” 

He trails off awkwardly. BoJack grins. “So you want me to be your fake boyfriend?”

“What? No!” He groans.  _ “Why _ would I want you to be my fake boyfriend?”

“So it looks like you moved on faster than him? Duh.”

“There is no  _ way _ he’ll be stupid enough to believe I  _ actually  _ moved on that fast.”

“Isn’t this the same guy that can’t understand why eating disorders are bad?”

“Just because he’s stupid doesn’t mean he’s an idiot. Ugh!” He groans. “I just need someone to help me carry all the shit out to my car so I can make it all in one trip. I don’t want to go back.”

BoJack narrows his eyes. “You’re not gonna make me ride in the back seat again, are you?”

“No, dumbass, that’s where my stuff goes. My car’s so old it doesn’t have a trunk.”

“I’m surprised that thing’s still running.”

“Me too, but there’s comfort in familiarity.” He sighs. “So, you’re free on the weekend?”

BoJack almost says  _ no,  _ that he  _ isn’t  _ free on the weekend. He usually says he isn’t, regardless of his actual plans. He’s quite  _ flexible  _ in regards to his weekend plans, and he likes to keep the slot open in case he comes up with some last-minute plans, like feeling sorry for himself, or Friday night drinks with Sharona, which rather rapidly turn into Saturday morning drinks with Sharona and sometimes Saturday afternoon drinks with Sharona. 

Then, BoJack remembers that Herb  _ kinda  _ needs him, and for some reason discovers that he  _ cares  _ about that, more than he cares about being able to lie on his bed for seven hours straight wallowing in his own misery. So, he says, “Yeah, I can help.”

“Thanks, BJ. I owe you one.” He pauses. “Technically I owe you two, since you stopped me from getting fired, but --”

“It’s cool,” says BoJack uneasily. “It’s -- Don’t sweat it. Nobody’s keeping track.”

_ “I’m  _ keeping track.”

“Well, stop keeping track, then.”

“Oh, BJ, I  _ swear  _ I’ll make it up to you.” 

“You  _ really  _ don’t have to.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “So, uh … what  _ happened?” _

Herb jolts. “What do you mean?”

“Uh, your boyfriend? Sorry,  _ ex- _ boyfriend.” He frowns. “You’ve been talking about how  _ great  _ he is for the last two weeks.”

“Yeah, well, a lot can change overnight. Also, I was lying, both to myself  _ and  _ to everyone around me.” He manages a weak chuckle. “Things had, uh -- they’d been building up for a while. It just boiled over last night.” 

“Okay, but what  _ happened?” _

Herb narrows his eyes. “Are you trying to view my life as entertainment?”

“...Maybe.”

“It was the same thing that always happens. I used the wrong tone of voice or some bullshit, and he started screaming his head off about how I’m such a rude little shit. So, I screamed back. He didn’t like that.” He chuckles halfheartedly. “So, we had a screaming match for a few hours, I threatened to break up with him, he  _ actually  _ broke up with me, I went to a motel.” He shrugs. “That’s pretty much it.” 

BoJack frowns. “So, how often do -- did those screaming matches happen?”

“Uhh, every couple weeks? But once it starts it’s, like, for at  _ least  _ a week it’s gonna happen again soon because Jason’s in a shitty mood.” He forces a small laugh. “Our screaming matches were normally pretty one-sided, though.”

“Yeah, uh, I think that’s called verbal abuse.”

“One-sided screaming match. Trust me, I was an English major.” 

BoJack is about to make his skeptical reply when the closet door swings open. On instinct he jumps back, away from Herb, and when Angela enters the room, he feels the blood rushing to his face. He realises a little too late that he’s in a room alone with a guy  _ known  _ for being gay, and uncomfortably close to him, and they’re both blushing uncontrollably, and for Christ’s sake, they’re in a  _ literal  _ closet. In an attempt to make things look a little less suspicious, he quickly says in what he hopes is a reassuring tone, “We’re not having gay sex.”

This, according to the look on Angela’s face, apparently isn’t  _ quite  _ enough to dispel any thoughts to the contrary.

“Do whatever you want,” she says dismissively. “As long as you’re not creating another scandal, I don’t mind. Everyone’s been looking for you.”

BoJack rolls his eyes. “I’ll be back on set in five.”

“We’re wrapping up filming early.” She waits a moment for the shock to settle in on BoJack’s face. “Sarah Lynn somehow managed to get cocaine, and now she needs to go home.”

The blood drains from BoJack’s face. “Oh,  _ shit,  _ is she --” He visibly relaxes. “Wait, no, I snorted all the cocaine in my car last night. The rest is at home.”

Herb’s eyes widen. “You  _ what?!” _

“So, we’re wrapping things up early, and then probably getting sued. You two are free to go.” She swiftly exits, closing the closet door behind her.

Herb takes a breath. “That is  _ easily  _ the most concerning thing I’ve heard all day, and I got to work this morning to discover that Probosc-shit is planning to put Olivia in a pumpkin suit  _ specifically  _ to make fat jokes about her.”

“My day started with my coworker leaving me a voicemail about how he was homeless, and I’m not even a  _ little  _ worried about that now that I’ve heard about Sarah Lynn.”

“To be fair, I’m  _ rich  _ homeless. Totally different.” He pauses. “Wait,  _ coworker?” _

“Uh, yeah?” He raises an eyebrow. “We work together, we’re coworkers?”

“I was hoping we’d be  _ more  _ than coworkers.” He playfully elbows BoJack in the ribs. “Like,  _ friends,  _ maybe?”

BoJack stares at him apprehensively for a moment, as though half expecting him to suddenly burst into flames. After a pause, he mutters, “Yeah, we can be friends, I guess.”

“That’s the spirit!” He grins. “I’ll pick you up on Saturday.”

“...You know where I live?”

“I  _ remembered  _ where you live, yeah. Still that place on the hill, with the pool you never use?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.” He snickers. “If your car’s still working by then.”

“Hey, it’s kept me going for this long.”

“And you’ve been dragging that piece of shit around for  _ how  _ long, exactly?”

“Since 1978,” he says proudly. “I guilted my parents into getting it for me, and  _ then  _ I came out and it was too late for them to take it back. Their whole ‘we’ll kick you out if you’re gay’ thing  _ really  _ backfired when I took the car that  _ they  _ paid for.”

“Yeesh, I was in the  _ eighth grade  _ while you were getting a  _ car.” _

“Yeah, I keep forgetting I’m three years older than you.”   
“That’s  _ so  _ unfair! I was slogging through middle school while you were living your best life?”

“My  _ best life?  _ I got  _ disowned.” _

“Ugh, whatever.” He crosses his arms. “Since I get to go home early, I’m gonna go ask Sharona if she wants a drink or several. I’ll see you around.”


	8. Adults

BoJack has barely reluctantly dragged his stupid ass out of the shower and into some clothes when he hears Herb’s incessant knocking on the door. He rushes to finish putting his shoes on so he can go downstairs. “Yeesh, you’re up early.”

Herb raises an eyebrow. “...It’s ten AM.”

“On a  _ weekend!  _ And you’re up and doing things? Yeesh, Herb, get a life.” He grabs his jacket from a hook on the inside of his front door. “So, are we going  _ this second,  _ or do I get to eat breakfast first?”

“You  _ still  _ haven’t eaten breakfast?” He rolls his eyes. “There’s no rush. We can get something on the way, if you want.” 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just have leftovers, it won’t be a minute.” He rushes into the kitchen and looks cautiously into his fridge. After a pause, he takes out the remains of a wedding cake he stole, and a bottle of beer. Herb walks into the kitchen just in time to see him quickly gulp down a few bites before putting the cake back in the fridge.

“Okay, first of all, if cake  _ was  _ a meal, you would need to eat more of it then that. Second of all, cake isn’t a meal.” 

BoJack glares. “I’m not taking health advice from  _ you.” _

“You said you were having  _ leftovers.” _

“And I  _ am!  _ I ate this cake for dinner last night.”

“You  _ cannot  _ eat cake for dinner.”

“I  _ can  _ too.”

“You’re twenty-nine.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Have you  _ seriously  _ not learned to cook for yourself yet?”

“Oh, I know how to cook. I just can’t be bothered half the time.” He washes down his handful of cake with a swig of alcohol. “Okay, yeah, I’m good to go now.” 

Herb’s eyes widen. “Jesus! It’s ten in the morning.”

“Time is a social construct, Herb.” He takes another swig. “At least I’m healthy.”

“I  _ highly  _ doubt that.”

“Trust me, I’ve done  _ much  _ more unhealthy things than eating alcohol and cake for breakfast.”

“Yeah, that might not be the great defense you think it is.” He hesitates. “Y’know, one of these days, I’m gonna teach you how to cook.”

“I told you, I already know.”

“Then I’ll teach you to quit being such a lazy dumbass about it.” He grins. “C’mon, let’s go.”

* * *

The car ride to Herb’s ex-boyfriend’s house is completely  _ mundane.  _ They don’t talk much during the drive, because there simply isn’t much to say, but when they do talk, it’s all just remarkably  _ easy.  _ Herb just has to make some corny joke, and BoJack always knows  _ exactly  _ how to respond to continue the set-up even when he still hasn’t got a clue what the punchline might be. The pauses between dumb jokes inspired by whatever they see during the drive aren’t tense, just relaxed -- nothing like the long silence that starts when Herb pulls up in the driveway and doesn’t end until BoJack hesitantly undoes his seatbelt. 

Herb takes a deep breath. “Well, I guess I’d better do it.” He opens the car door, then turns to BoJack. “You keep him distracted in the living room while I get my shit out.”

He exits the car and walks up to the front door, fishing his keys out of his pocket. BoJack quickly follows. Herb knocks, and then lets himself in anyway. A tall pale rabbit turns sharply at the sound of the door, ears jolting upright. “Oh,” he growls. “Look who came crawling back.”   
“Crawling back to get my stuff, yes,” snarls Herb. “Don’t suppose you were kind enough to pack it up for me? Or did you presume you could just  _ take  _ all of it?”

Jason frowns, stepping backward. “But we don’t even  _ know  _ what stuff’s yours. We’ve been wearing each other’s shirts for, like, two weeks.”

“Only because you’re too  _ immature  _ to buy your own goddamn shirts!” He picks up a dirty shirt off the floor. “You’ve had this shirt since your mom brought it for you when you were sixteen.”

“It’s a perfectly good shirt!”

“You are thirty-six!” He groans. “I can’t deal with this anymore. I’m gonna go grab my shit.” He storms upstairs, into another room. BoJack stands in the doorway uncertainly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

It takes Jason a long time to even see him, and a longer time to figure out what he wants to do about his presence. “...Huh,” he finally says. “He moved on  _ that  _ fast, huh?”

BoJack can  _ feel  _ the blood rushing to his face. “That’s not -- we’re not -- I’m just here to help him pack his shit.” He buries his face in his hands in embarrassment. “I’m not even gay.”

“Sure you’re not.” He smirks. “So, he just  _ happened  _ to ask his  _ coworker  _ for help packing his stuff up?”

“...Yes?” says BoJack cautiously. “That’s, that’s not unusual. Why wouldn’t he?”

While Jason is still trying to think of a response, a loud  _ thud  _ sounds from up stairs, and Herb calls, “BJ!”

Jason bursts into laughter, “He calls you  _ blowjob?”  _

“That’s -- that’s not what it --” He smacks himself in the forehead, then turns away and rushes upstairs. Upon finding the bedroom -- which takes approximately three attempts, because Jason has  _ two  _ guest rooms like a complete maniac -- he sees a cardboard box on the floor, and Herb struggling to reach a high shelf on which several more cardboard boxes are resting. 

“I can’t reach.”

BoJack smirks. “Of course you couldn’t.”

“I’m serious!” says Herb indignantly. He points at the box on the floor. “Getting that one down was really dangerous. It nearly hit me in the head! I could have gotten a height-related injury.” 

BoJack says, without missing a beat, “What height?”

Herb glares. “Look me in the eye and say that again.”

“Can’t,” deadpans BoJack, carelessly moving a box from the top shelf. “I’d hurt my neck.” He places a second box down, then frowns. “What’s  _ in  _ these?”

“Oh, all sorts of old shit. I’m a bit of a hoarder.” Out of curiosity, he kneels down and opens one of them. His eyes widen as he pulls out a dusty book. “Oh shit, I was  _ wondering  _ where that went.”

“What is it?” asks BoJack.

“The copy of  _ Romeo and Juliet  _ I stole from my high school.” He grins. “My tenth grade English teacher  _ asked  _ if anyone knew where the last copy went. And I said, ‘Hey, don’t look at me, I’m  _ great  _ at English which somehow means I can never break rules, go yell at the kids skipping class’.”

BoJack’s eyes widen. “And they  _ never  _ found out?”

“No, but they  _ did  _ give the kids that were bullying me for being gay a detention. Being the teacher’s pet has its benefits.”

“Dude, if I’d  _ stolen  _ something from my school, I would  _ never  _ stop being anxious about the teachers finding out.”

“What are they gonna do? Call the cops on you over a single thing stolen a goddamn decade and a half ago?” He grins. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“That has  _ never  _ stopped me from worrying before.” He clears his throat. “Well, uh -- if we wanna get this shit out of here before we start dying of old age, I guess we’d better start now.”

* * *

As a matter of fact, they  _ don’t  _ end up getting it out before they start dying of old age. They instead have to just settle for doing as much as they  _ can  _ do before around eight PM, and making several jokes at the expense of Herb’s inability to just  _ decide  _ whether to keep or throw something to make up for dragging out a simple task into something that will now end up taking at  _ least  _ a full weekend. 

It’s dark outside by the time they pile the last few items for the day into the back seat of Herb’s shitty excuse for a car. BoJack shudders. “Ugh, can I drive?”

Herb narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you drunk?”

“Not even tipsy. I haven’t drank since breakfast.”

“That might honestly be  _ worse,  _ but -- it’s dark out. And you don’t know the area! You’ll get us lost.” 

“I  _ will  _ not.” 

“Ugh, fine. But the  _ second  _ we get lost I’m taking over.” 

BoJack insists that he  _ won’t  _ get lost as he gets into the driver’s seat, and continues to insist this for the first several miles of the car ride. He further insists it to drown out Herb’s protests as the streets grow more and more unrecognizable, until Herb is downright  _ demanding  _ that he pulls over and lets him take the wheel. 

“Ugh, fine,” snaps BoJack. “Go ahead. Be a party pooper. I’m just taking the  _ scenic route.”  _ He pulls Herb’s car into park on the side of the road, next to a fence and a long stretch of grass, on the other side of which seems to be a  _ park,  _ of all things. He irritably opens the door, and Herb gets out from the passenger side, and then  _ waits  _ for them to switch places.

No such thing happens.

He turns to Herb, who is staring at the park with wide eyes. “...They make swings big enough for adults?”

“Hmmm?” He squints, trying to figure out what Herb’s looking at in the dark. “Uh, yeah, I guess they do.” It’s one of those  _ big  _ swings, the tree net ones with a seat made of ropes carefully placed together like a spider web, the ones BoJack  _ would  _ have gone on with his friends when he was about  _ six  _ if he had ever been allowed to have friends. “That’s  _ dumb.  _ Who’s gonna use it?”

Herb grins. “Adults!” 

And with absolutely  _ no  _ hesitation, he runs off.

“God dammit,” mutters BoJack, before starting after him. 

The grass is far too long, clearly neglected by whoever’s job it is to maintain the park, and every step allows more tiny thorns to make their way into his socks. He catches up in time to see Herb sitting irritably on a swing too high off the ground for him to use his own legs to propel himself, struggling sort of pathetically. “...BJ?”

He gives a pleading look. BoJack smacks himself in the forehead. “You are  _ thirty-two.” _

“...Yes,” says Herb sheepishly. “Yes, I  _ am  _ thirty-two. Can you push me on the swing?” 

BoJack says, definitively, “There is no  _ way  _ I am going to push my thirty-two year old coworker on a swing.” 

Herb looks at him.

“...Okay, fine.” He takes a deep breath, and gives the swing a push.

Herb’s arms shoot up in excitement. “Higher.”

“You are thirty-two.”

“Higher!”

BoJack, rolling his eyes, pushes the swing harder.

Things continue like that for a long time -- complete  _ silence  _ apart from Herb occasionally demanding to go  _ higher,  _ and BoJack’s regular complaints that this is  _ tiring  _ and he’s  _ too old for this. _

“You’re only twenty-nine,” says Herb, pouting. “You’re not getting weak from old age yet.”

_ “Not  _ what I meant.” 

It’s at  _ least  _ another twenty minutes before Herb’s eyes shoot open and his face turns bright red as a healthy dose of self-awareness hits him like a goddamn brick. He quickly shifts forward to the edge of the roped seat and drags a leg along the ground to slow his movement until it comes to a stop. “...Woah.”

“Yeah, I was wondering when you’d stop.”

“Oh my  _ god.”  _ He buries his face in his hands. “That was  _ so  _ embarrassing.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Not helping!” He groans. “I can’t  _ believe  _ I just did that.”

“I can, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t, but … thanks.” His face turns a deeper shade of red. “I’ve  _ always  _ wanted to go on a swing.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Uh, I’m an adult? They’re all too small. And, my boyfriend wouldn’t let me.” He winces.  _ “Ex- _ boyfriend.”

“I mean, it  _ is  _ a little weird.”

“Ugh, Jason’s just a dick!” He throws up his hands in frustration. “Once, I said they should make swings for adults, and he asked if I was retarded.”

BoJack winces. “Yeesh.”

“In his defense, that’s a perfectly acceptable word in the 90s, which is the decade it currently is.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if that’s a good defense.” He feels the blood rushing to his face, and he can’t explain why.

“Well, it’s late. We should go home.” He steps off the swing, grinning. He runs a nervous hand through what’s left of his hair, eyes shining with a reflection of the light from a nearby street lamp. He turns back toward the car, and all of the breath is pushed from BoJack’s lungs.

“...Oh.”

He looks at Herb as he walks back to the car, thanking God for the thick layer of fur hiding all the skin on his face, because he can  _ feel  _ himself heating up like he’s just given himself hyperthermia with a mild stimulant overdose.

“... _ Oh.” _

He just stands there,  _ frozen,  _ watching Herb walk back to the car, wanting to run after him, to be  _ close  _ to him, and still being  _ frozen. _

“...Oh  _ shit.” _

Herb turns back, frowning. “Uh, BJ? You coming?”

BoJack’s head shoots upward. “Yeah! Yeah, yeah, I’m -- I’m right behind you.” Satisfied, Herb turns and continues walking, and BoJack draws his head back in frustration. “... _ Shit.” _


	9. The Bookshelf

“So,” she continues, completely oblivious to the way both BoJack and Herb are cringing at every part of this story. “I go to, y’know,  _ deal with that,  _ and I open the trash can to put the rubbish away, and you know what I see?”

BoJack slams his head against a wall. “No, and I don’t want to know.”

“It was a  _ camera.”  _ She takes a sip from her orange juice. “Why would there be a  _ camera  _ in the trash can of the girls bathroom at KFC?”

“It was a unisex bathroom,” says Herb.

BoJack and Sharona both turn to stare at him. He frowns. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

_ “Why  _ would you feel the need to specify that it’s a unisex bathroom?”

Herb gestures vaguely. “...Because it  _ is?” _

“That’s like needing to specify the difference between pedophilia and ephebophilia,” says BoJack. “You’re getting so caught up on the semantics you’re ignoring that they’re  _ both  _ weird as shit.”

Herb throws up his hands in frustration. “How can you compare putting a camera in the trash can of the unisex bathroom in KFC to  _ pedophilia?!”  _

Sharona narrows her eyes. “So you  _ did  _ put the camera there?”

“Ugh, whatever.” He opens the door of the hair and makeup room, and his eyes widen when he sees someone else standing outside. “Oh, hey, Bradley.”

Bradley looks up at him with anxious eyes, clutching an exercise book in one hand. “Can you help me with my math homework?” 

Herb grimaces. “Sorry, kiddo, but -- I’m kinda busy.” He turns back to BoJack and Sharona. “I’m gonna go check on Joelle. She’s been acting weird since the pumpkin suit episode.”

BoJack shudders. “God, that episode was  _ awful.  _ It was so  _ weird  _ having to go up and make fat jokes about this girl that, like, looks like a goddamn  _ skeleton.” _

Bradley pouts. “Why do you pay so much attention to the girls and not me?”

“Aww, kiddo, we still love you,” says Herb, ruffling his hair affectionately. “It’s just that, well, compared to Sarah Lynn and Joelle, your problems are neither significant nor interesting.”

“My problems aren’t significant?” repeats Bradley, audibly offended. “My dad’s a neo-nazi! My parents are getting divorced because of BoJack. I have undiagnosed autism!”

“It’s the 90s! We’ve all got undiagnosed autism.” Still grinning, he walks off. Bradley crosses his arms and storms off in the other direction. 

BoJack breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, now that Herb’s out of earshot, we  _ have a problem.”  _

Sharona’s eyes widen. “What’s the problem?”

BoJack can  _ feel  _ the blood rushing to his face. “So, I might be gay.”

“Oh,” replies Sharona nonchalantly. “And that is a problem, because?”

“Because -- because last night, Herb was being a total  _ idiot,”  _ he explains frantically. “He was, he was acting like a goddamn kid. But he was  _ happy,  _ and I  _ let  _ him be a goddamn idiot, because I  _ wanted  _ him to be happy.”

Sharona raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, that’s -- that’s completely normal.”

“Not for me!” He frowns. “Sharona, am I a good person?”

Sharona grimaces. “Well…” She begins.

He groans.  _ “Sharona.” _

“You’re not an abuser,” she continues. “Or a pedophile. And you’ve never  _ once  _ thrown eggs at disabled orphans.”

“That’s, like, the  _ bare  _ minimum for not being a human dumpster fire.” His eyes widen. “Holy shit, am I a human dumpster fire?”

“Well…” She rubs the back of her neck nervously. “I mean, I wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re human…”

“That is  _ so  _ much worse!” He smacks himself in the forehead. “I think I’m in love with Herb.”

“...Oh.”

He buries his face in his hands. “And I don’t know what to  _ do  _ about it!”

“Uh, ask him out?” She elbows him in the ribs, grinning. “Dude’s had an  _ obvious  _ thing for you for, like, half a decade.”

He removes his hands from his face and raises an eyebrow. “...You think so?”

“He once tried to  _ kiss  _ you in the middle of a work day.”

“Yeah, I assumed that was platonic. But this is a  _ huge  _ problem!” He groans. “Like, what if I go to hell for being gay? What if I go to  _ super  _ hell?” His eyes widen. “What if Herb’s homophobic?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Herb is famously gay.”

“Yeah, but he hates lesbians.”

“Oh, everybody hates lesbians.”

“Yeah, they really make it easy.”

“Just talk to Herb, for crying out loud.” She grins. “I mean, what’s the worst thing that could happen?”

BoJack, in a rare show of athleticism, jumps to the worst possible conclusion in a single leap. “I could die of spontaneous human combustion.”

“You’re a horse. What’s the worst thing that could  _ realistically  _ happen?”

“...Heart attack?” 

She gives him a look. “The worst thing that could happen is that he says, ‘no, I don’t want to go out with you’, and then you both move on with your lives.”

“Okay,” says BoJack indignantly. “First of all, that would be  _ catastrophic.  _ Secondly, that is  _ far  _ from the worst possible outcome of me asking Herb out. What if he gets hurt?”

_ “How  _ would he get hurt?”

“Uh, tripping and falling? Exercising with insufficient warmup? A fistfight?”

“You’re overthinking it. Just -- take a deep breath, go up to him, and say it.” She pauses. “Also, I  _ don’t  _ think Herb would get into a fistfight.” 

“I mean, he’s seemed pretty tempted lately.”

“But he  _ hasn’t.”  _ She shudders. “If he can be in a room with Danny Bananas  _ and  _ Sarah Lynn’s stepdad without throwing a punch, I don’t know if he ever will.”

“Funny you should say that, because Herb’s actually on probation now because of Probosc-shit.”

She looks up. “Oh? What did he do?”

“He said he refused to be body-shamed by someone whose nose bounces around like an anime girl’s  _ tits  _ every time he moves his head half a degree.”

Sharona snorts. “Well, I mean…”

“I still think he was completely in the right.” 

“He  _ was!”  _ She gestures vaguely. “I mean, what was he  _ meant  _ to say? ‘Yes, I fully approve of my own body-shaming at the hands of someone with a nose that bounces around like an anime girl’s tits every time he moves his head half a degree’?”

“Well, maybe he worded it a little bad. But the overall  _ point  _ of what he said is something I think we can all agree with.” He opens the door of the hair and makeup room. “...Holy shit.”

He cautiously looks up at Sarah Lynn, who is sitting calmly on top of a  _ terrifyingly  _ tall bookshelf, sticking her tongue out at Joelle, who is struggling to balance as she stands on top of a table. “Get down!” he says instinctively, but then he remembers that Sarah Lynn couldn’t even get down without  _ falling  _ down which would be even more dangerous. He groans. “How did you even get up there?!” 

“I climbed,” she answers sweetly.

“I said I was taller than her,” explains Joelle. “So she got on the table to be taller than me, so then  _ I  _ got on the table, so she climbed up the bookshelf, and now I’m trying to figure out if it’s safe for me to climb up.”

“It isn’t. Get down.” She reluctantly steps down from the table, and BoJack turns to Sarah Lynn, extending his arms out to the top of the bookshelf so he’s able to lift her up and put her down on the ground. “That is  _ so  _ dangerous. You could get hurt!” 

Sarah Lynn pouts. “Nuh-uh, I was careful.”

“Oh, you were  _ carefully _ climbing onto a bookshelf?!” 

“Mm-hmm.”

“You could have fallen and broken your arm!” He smacks himself in the forehead. “It’s -- it’s fine. Just don’t do it again.” He turns to Joelle. “Have you seen Herb?”

“I think he went to go hand out coffees, or something,” she answers irritably, crossing her arms. “He came to tell me all this bullshit about how I don’t need to lose weight.”

BoJack looks at her. “You  _ clearly  _ don’t need to lose weight.”

She rolls his eyes and gives him a condescending look. “My photography teacher’s picking the kid with the  _ best  _ photos at the end of next week to be the  _ model.  _ That means the rest of the class has to take pictures of whoever gets chosen, and  _ then,  _ they get to use the teacher as  _ their  _ model.”

BoJack blinks. “And?”

“And, I dunno, if I’m pretty I can give myself an edge.”

“Okay,” says BoJack, eyes widening. “First of all, you  _ just  _ said it was based on your grades. Second of all, you don’t need to lose weight, and third of all, that is a  _ weird  _ set-up and I’m mildly concerned about your photography teacher.”

Joelle scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “My photography teacher is a  _ woman.” _

BoJack sighs in relief. “Oh, phew. Good thing women are incapable of doing wrong.”

Sharona raises an eyebrow. “Uh, didn’t your mom --”

Joelle clears her throat loudly. “Why did you  _ want  _ to talk to Herb, anyway?”

Sarah Lynn giggles. “Are you  _ gay?” _

His heart skips a beat. “What? No!”

Joelle smirks. “Ooh, did you want to tell Herb you were in  _ love  _ with him?”

Sharona looks up. “Hmm?” She elbows him in the ribs, grinning. “Were you?”

“I was …” He hesitates, then sighs. “No, I wasn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter today! jsyk, when i do short chapters it's usually because "this isnt as long as id like it to be, but the next scene i have planned is *really* long and would make it *way* longer than i want the chapter, so ig i'll just suck it up"
> 
> i'm taking a short break from this fic to work on something for a specific event in the pokemon fandom. shouldnt be longer than a few days, a week at most!


	10. Bookshelf Destiel

So, with BoJack unwilling to say anything to Herb, things slot into _routine._ The _routine_ is completely mundane in every possible way, and yet so unbelievably _foreign._ It’s all just normal friendship stuff, but BoJack has never had a friend in his life, yet alone one like _Herb._

Because, Herb is an _exceptional_ friend. He’s the sort of friend who offers BoJack a lift home instead of asking why the _hell_ he’s shitfaced drunk by lunchtime, and when Bojack invariably insists that he’s _totally_ sober enough to drive, he calls a few minutes after getting home to make sure he’s safe. He’s the sort of friend who doesn’t even hesitate to call BoJack out on his frequent bullshit, who cares about him too much to watch him self-sabotage again and again. He’s the sort of friend who uses his spare time to talk to BoJack, rather than talking to BoJack in his spare time, and BoJack’s face is _burning_ every time Herb has a second free.

Herb has a _lot_ of free time lately, considering that he supposedly works as an assistant. BoJack suspects that he’s rushing through all of his tasks so he can hang out with him. But, that’s none of his business.

A convenient lighting issue arises after Herb was coincidentally doing _something_ with the lights. If anyone’s managed to put two and two together to figure out that _he sabotaged the filming of his own show just to hang out with BoJack,_ then nobody says anything. He leans against the wall, in the hallway outside the hair and makeup room, grinning.

“But how does it _get_ there?” BoJack continues to ask.

Herb raises an eyebrow. “Uh, the tornado picked it up?”

“No, you don’t get it,” he insists. “Like, Sharks are _heavy._ How would they get into the tornado?”

“Trust me, BJ. A _fish_ knows this stuff.”

“But _neither_ of us are fish.”

Herb scowls. “You don’t need to rub it in.”

“If you consider a mere _mention_ of the fact that you’re not a fish to be _rubbing it in,_ then yeah, I _do_ need to rub it in.”

“Oh, shove off,” snaps Herb, playfully elbowing him in the ribs. 

BoJack’s voice rises an octave in a mockery of Herb’s. It doesn’t help that he’s already tipsy. _“Look at me, I’m Herb Kazzaz and I think I’m a fish!”_

Herb takes a step toward him and trips, managing to right himself before he sprawls to the ground. He’s also tipsy. BoJack managed to talk him into sharing his morning bourbon this morning, but his tolerance is lower than BoJack’s, leaving him more than a little clumsy. “BJ, I hate you with every inch of my being.”

BoJack, without missing a beat, replies with, “That’s not a lot of inches.”

Herb’s features immediately harden. “Excuse me?”

“Y’know,” elaborates BoJack, grinning. “Since … you’re not that tall?”

Herb crosses his arms. “Excuse me?” he repeats, giving BoJack a positively challenging look. “Pfft, as if _you’re_ any taller.”

BoJack looks down at him with a blank stare. “Uh, you sure about that?”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes. “I _could_ be taller, anyway. In fact --” He steps up onto a table, grinning. “Now I _am_ taller than you. Ha!”

“Yeah, well--” BoJack, grinning, steps onto the table as well, and rises to his full height, towering over Herb with no effort. “How’s that?”

Herb glares. “Hmmf.” He steps down from the table, seemingly conceding defeat. Then, after only a small moment of hesitation, he starts climbing the bookshelf.

BoJack’s eyes widen. “Herb, don’t.”

But Herb simply isn’t _used_ to drinking at this level. Herb drinks at parties, to _get drunk,_ to end up so shitfaced he would throw up on his way to the phone booth to call a taxi for the ride home, and then a friend would look at him sort of oddly and remind him that he has a cell phone. The state of being _tipsy,_ of being a little overconfident and _very_ clumsy but not quite _drunk,_ is almost foreign to him, and he’s completely unaware of his own limits. So, he unhesitatingly climbs to the top of the bookshelf, positions himself sitting on the top, and smirks. “Who’s taller now, huh?”

Even BoJack isn’t stupid enough to think he could attempt the same climb and have Herb’s luck. “Yeah, you win.”

Herb pauses for a few moments, then starts _giggling._

BoJack finds himself getting nauseous from the height, so he sits down on the table instead of standing on it, legs dangling over the edge. He looks up at Herb, feeling his cheeks burn. His eyes are open, his heart full, somehow feeling happier than he ever has before. The words simply fall out of his mouth.

“I love you.”

Herb stares at him in blunt shock for a moment, completely at a loss as for how to even _begin_ to respond, and then loses his balance and crashes to the ground with a loud _thud._

“...Oh,” says BoJack. 

Herb struggles to catch his breath, clearly winded from the impact with the ground, head drawn back in an attempt to fight off at least three different kinds of whiplash, one of them easily being the shock of receiving such a declaration from his best friend. BoJack is filled with joy. Herb can’t reciprocate, but BoJack doesn’t need him to. 

“Holy _shit,”_ pants Herb.

BoJack frowns. “Uh, you okay?”

“No,” snaps Herb through gritted teeth, rolling onto his back and gingerly placing a hand to his side, the one he landed on. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, oh _fuck,_ God --” He manages to draw in a long, shuddering breath. “Well, _shit,”_ he manages to shakily get out, red in the face and trembling all over. “Now _that_ was a height-related injury.”

BoJack, without missing a beat, says, “What height?”

If looks could kill, then BoJack would have keeled over at least twice from the fury concentrated into his eyes. _“I have broken ribs.”_

“...Oh,” says BoJack. “... _Oh.”_ His brain finally manages to catch up with the situation, to realise that _this is bad._ “...Oh, _shit.”_ He practically _leaps_ off the table and strides over to Herb. “Uh, it’s -- it’s okay! I’ll, uh, I’ll get, um--”

The door of the hair and makeup room swings open. “Uh, you two okay?” asks Sharona. “I heard a _lot_ of noise, and some of it sounded vaguely homoerotic but other parts were just --”

“Ibuprofen,” demands Herb through gritted teeth. _“Now.”_

Sharona asks what _happened_ and neither of them can be bothered to answer her, so she ducks back into the hair and makeup room. BoJack continues to stand there awkwardly. “Uh, I’ve got cocaine in the car, but I dunno if it’ll help.”

 _“Why_ do you -- I don’t even care.” He groans. BoJack hesitates.

 _He’s in pain,_ says some part of BoJack’s mind, the naively optimistic part that always wants to _help_ people, especially Herb. The rest of him has learned by now that he _can’t_ help people, that all he’s ever done is drag people down with me and that’s all he’ll ever do, all he’ll ever _be._ But, part of him is just _aching_ to break that cycle, to learn how to comfort people in a way that he can’t recall ever being comforted in his life. 

So, he crouches down. 

“Hey,” he says, in the gentlest tone he knows. He learned it purely to play his part of a fictional father better, and he never thought he’d have to use it in real life. “Hey, it’s okay. Just listen to me, okay? I’m here.” Herb raises an eyebrow at him, as if to say, ‘what are you _doing,_ BJ?’, and BoJack becomes very self-conscious of how out of character this is, and about the fact that _being nice to people who are in pain_ is _out of character_ for him says a lot about his character. But, he tries not to think too hard about that. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Herb continues to stare at him as though he’s not entirely sure how to even _begin_ to respond to this sudden show of comfort. BoJack, hesitantly, reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder. “Can you sit up?”

“I, I don’t know --” He grabs BoJack’s arm. BoJack is taken off guard just by how _shaky_ his hands are. He might as well be literally _vibrating_ as he uses BoJack to pull himself up. As he struggles to catch his breath, BoJack waits for him to let go of his arm.

He never does.

Sharona re-enters the hallway. “I’ve got ibuprofen. What _happened?”_ Her eyes widen when she sees how tightly Herb is gripping BoJack. “Oh, you’re back to being vaguely homoerotic.” 

“Shut it,” snaps BoJack, taking the ibuprofen and handing it to Herb. “He fell off a bookshelf.”

Sharona blinks. “What?”

“I fell off a bookshelf,” snaps Herb. He dry swallows a pill. “What’s so hard to understand?”

“You fell off … a _bookshelf?”_ she repeats, scratching her head in confusion.

“That one,” says BoJack unhelpfully, pointing at the bookshelf in question.

Sharona looks at Herb, then looks at the bookshelf. She frowns. “How did you even _get--”_

“I _climbed,”_ Herb damn near _growls_ in pain and frustration.

She frowns. “But _why_ were you --”

“Geez, can you stop interrogating me? I’m in a shittonne of pain.” 

“But -- fine.” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll go get one of the execs to call an ambulance.”

“No, don’t,” says Herb hurriedly. 

BoJack frowns. “Herb, you’ve gotta --”

“I’ll get _fired!_ You think I can just walk up to Angela, who _hates_ me, and say I got injured by falling off a bookshelf _while at work?_ She’ll ask why I was on the bookshelf in the first place.”

“Why _were_ you on the bookshelf in the first place?” asks Sharona. 

“I told you, I’m not in the mood for an interrogation. She’d fire me on the spot. I mean, I’m already on probation.”

“What for?”

“For saying I refused to be body-shamed by someone whose nose bounces around like an anime girl’s _tits_ every time he moves his head half a degree.”

“I still think he was objectively in the right,” adds BoJack.

“Whether I was _right_ or not, I’m still on probation. She’ll lose her shit if I have to waste _her_ time on medical attention because I was on a _bookshelf,_ at _work.”_

“I mean, that last part is pretty valid --” begins Sharona.

“So, what’s _your_ genius plan?” protests BoJack. “You’ll just _ignore_ the broken ribs?”

Herb pauses for a moment, frowning. “...What time is it?”

“You’re wearing a watch.”

“Almost lunchtime,” says Sharona.

“...Right.” He thinks it over. “...Right, right, so, I only have to get through, like, _half_ the day, and then --”   
BoJack smacks himself in the forehead. “You _cannot_ be serious.”

“It’s a better plan,” says Herb, a defensive edge in his voice, but his volume remaining completely steady, afraid to draw in too much breath to talk a little louder. “If I can keep going ‘till after work, and go to the hospital _then,_ I can get some time off work _without_ getting fired. I’ll just lie about how I fell. That way I won’t have to explain what I was doing on a bookshelf.”

Sharona rolls her eyes. “You know, maybe you _should_ explain what you were --”

“I’m in _pain,_ Sharona. I don’t want to talk too much.”

“This is _crazy,”_ says BoJack. “Like, you get that, right? That there’s no _way_ you can do your job like this?”

 _“Do_ my job, no. But, half-ass it for a few hours?”

“Can you even _walk?”_

“Of course I can. You don’t need ribs to walk. See, help me up.” BoJack quickly stands back up and holds out a hand to Herb. When he pulls him to his feet, he notices that he’s not downright _vibrating_ like he was before, but he’s definitely still trembling. His legs are shaking, too, that much becomes obvious when he stands up. “...Okay, so, you _do_ need ribs to stand up, but really --” 

“You don’t look good,” says BoJack, frowning. He’s still holding Herb’s hand, and he’s rapidly becoming self-conscious about that, but part of him is downright _scared_ to let go. Not even scared of going back to that state of being perpetually touch starved that he didn’t even realise he was _in_ until he got over himself to help Herb -- scared that if he moves a few steps away then he won’t be there to catch Herb if he collapses, that if he goes back to _his job_ of acting for the show then _something_ will happen, and he won’t be there to help Herb. He doesn’t know why he _cares_ so much. He hasn’t consistently been there for Herb _at all_ in the last six years. “I, uh, I _really_ think you should go sit down.” 

“Yeah, I probably should.” He lets go of BoJack’s hand; a shudder goes down BoJack’s spine from the sudden lack of contact as Herb carefully moves a hand to his injured side. “Hey, you don’t need to freak out over me.” He winces, and then manages to somewhat-successfully disguise it as a grin. “I’m okay.”

BoJack can _tell_ he’s lying, and it scares him. Part of him just wants to _grab_ Herb, and tell him to his face that _he isn’t fooling anyone so stop trying,_ and then abandon his own role as an actor to demote himself just like Herb was demoted, just to make _sure_ nobody tries to get him to do anything that would make things worse.

But, BoJack is an actor.

So, without even bothering with the emotional effort of finding something to _say,_ he _tears_ his head away, forces himself not to look at Herb, mutters something under his breath about how he’d better get back on set. He can almost _feel_ both him and Sharona thinking about how much of a _dick_ he’s suddenly being, and right after the rare event of him proving he _can_ be a decent person, but he doesn’t _care._ He doesn’t watch it. He _can’t_ watch it.

He’s nearly back at the set when Sharona catches up to him. “Uh, you okay?”

“I’m not the one with the broken ribs,” he snaps, because pointing out that he _should_ be okay is a lot easier than accepting that he _isn’t_ and asking himself _why._

“Yeah, Herb’s doing okay, I’m making him rest because I don’t trust him to not be an idiot. What about _you?”_ She narrows her eyes. “You seemed _really_ worried about him.”

He frowns. “Did I?”

“Yeah. Almost like you _cared,_ or something.” She smirks. “What was he _doing_ on the bookshelf, anyway? And how’d he fall off?”

“Ehh…” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I think there’s some sort of unspoken mutual agreement not to mention or acknowledge that.”


	11. An Atypical Wednesday Evening

He’s never thought to seriously check if you  _ need  _ your ribs to drive, but before they’ve even begun to wrap up on filming for the day he’s made the decision that he’ll goddamn  _ kidnap  _ Herb if he has to to get the idiot to accept a lift home. By the time they’re halfway through the last scene, he’s got a whole argument scripted in his head, and by the time he actually  _ sees  _ Herb on his way to get his bottle from his trailer, he’s almost got a full-length essay prepared.

Instead of listing out any of the reasons why he  _ has  _ to accept BoJack’s generosity, why there is  _ no other option,  _ he just rubs the back of his neck nervously and says, “I can drive you to the hospital.”

“Yeah, I was gonna ask.” He winces. “Ambulances are expensive as shit and I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to drive right now. The pain is  _ really  _ distracting.” He pauses. “Also, Sharona gave me vodka to take the edge off.”

BoJack sighs in relief. “Phew, I thought it was just me that drank vodka at work.”

“No, it’s Sharona too. Which is concerning, but none of my business. Your car or mine?”

BoJack shoots him an offended look as they start walking out to the parking lot together. “Mine, obviously. You think anyone would give a shit if yours got stolen overnight?”

Herb shoots him an offended look right back.  _ “I  _ would.”

“You could replace it with the exact same model for twenty bucks and a piece of used gum. Besides, if anyone finds the shit in my car, I’m  _ screwed.”  _

Herb rolls his eyes. “My car isn’t  _ that  _ cheap.”

“Okay, thirty bucks and fresh gum. That any better?” He throws up his hands in frustration. “It’s  _ literally  _ the same model that my eighth grade pianist had, a goddamn decade and a half ago.”

Herb raises an eyebrow. “Okay,  _ how  _ do you know that?”

“Because I saw my eighth grade pianist’s car, asswad.”

“What, in enough detail to remember it for a decade and a half?”

“He gave me a lift home once when my mom was pretending not to know me. It was a pretty memorable experience.” He clears his throat. “How’re you holding up?”

“Eh…” He makes a so-so gesture. “It’s been rough.”

“You’re downplaying how much pain you’re in so I don’t worry, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely. I literally want to die right now.” He winces again. His hand brushes against BoJack’s as they walk, but he pulls away. 

“We can stop by my house for heroin if you want, but it might kill you.”

“Tempting, but it’s probably safer to get a script.” He pauses. “Why do you have  _ heroin  _ at your house?”

“In case of emergencies.”

“What emergency?”

“One like this, with a less stubborn guy getting injured.”

“It’s not  _ stubborn  _ to not want to get myself killed snorting heroin.”

“You don’t  _ snort  _ heroin, you shoot it.” He unlocks the door to his car. “Uh, there’s a bag of cocaine in the passenger seat. Just shove it under the glovebox or something.” 

Herb raises an eyebrow at him as he cautiously nudges the bag off the seat and climbs in. “Shit, can you close that door for me? I don’t think I can do it without it hurting like  _ shit.”  _

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He leans over, uncomfortably invading Herb’s personal space, and pulls the passenger door closed. “How bad’s the pain? Scale of one to ten?”

“Uh, I dunno, seven? Yeah, probably seven.”

“You know, you have a really high pain tolerance.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” 

“They’ll probably have something stronger at the hospital.”

“God, I hope so.”

“Just hang in there.”

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

“So,” he begins. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

Herb looks up. “Talk about what?” 

“The weather. It’s a little humid.” He smacks himself in the forehead. “Can we  _ please  _ talk about what happened today?”

A combination of pain and exhaustion seems to be slowing Herb’s thought process to a crawl. “What … happened today?”

“Yes,” says BoJack impatiently. “You know, that  _ thing,  _ where you decided to climb on a bookshelf like a goddamn idiot, and then I said I loved you, and then you fell off the bookshelf and broke your ribs? Can we talk about that?” 

Herb is silent for a long time. “...I don’t think there’s much to talk about. I mean, that’s a pretty typical Tuesday night.”

BoJack throws up his hands in frustration. “It’s  _ Wednesday.” _

“Yeah, I’m having a bit of trouble thinking straight. There’s this horrific pain in my ribs every time I move or breathe, it’s a little distracting.” 

“Okay, but can we please at least  _ acknowledge  _ my love confession?”

“Acknowledge?” repeats Herb incredulously. “I was so shocked I  _ fell off a bookshelf.  _ I think that counts as acknowledgement.”

“I mean --” He gestures vaguely with the hand that isn’t on the steering wheel. “You’re dodging the question.”

_ “I’m  _ dodging the question?  _ You’re  _ the one who hasn’t even gotten his shit together to  _ ask  _ the question.”

BoJack takes a deep breath. “Will you go out with me?”

There’s a long silence.

“Well,” says Herb, slowly but carefully. BoJack’s heart breaks cleanly in two before he even has to say another word. “I mean … be honest, BJ. Are you  _ really  _ boyfriend material?”

BoJack rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Well, clearly all my ex-girlfriends thought so.”

“...And do they still think so?”

BoJack hangs his head in shame. “Uh… no.”

“I like you, a lot.” His face turns a deep shade of red. “I’ve liked you for  _ years.  _ But do I like you so much I’m going to set myself up to get hurt? I mean … I don’t know.”

BoJack frowns. “But I’m  _ not  _ going to hurt you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m -- I’m sure you don’t  _ mean  _ to screw over any of your girlfriends. But you do. And,” He frowns. “If we end up in some huge fight where we break up then we’ll still have to see each other for work every day! It’ll be so  _ awkward.”  _ He grimaces apologetically. “I’m, I’m sorry, it’s just --”

“No, it’s -- it’s fine.” He clears his throat. “You don’t owe me that.”

“It’s, it’s not a solid no. I just need time to think.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“It’s just -- it’s been a really long day.”

“Because of the broken ribs?”   
“No, because the weather’s a little humid.” The unstated punchline that  _ of course  _ it’s because of the broken ribs is so obvious that he doesn’t feel a need to say it. 

“Hey, we’re nearly there. You’re doing really well so far.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just -- it’s really hard.” He winces.

“I didn’t realise you had such a high pain tolerance.”

“Yeah, uh…” He starts fidgeting anxiously with his hands. “When I was a kid I got shuffled around foster homes for a few years. They kept sending me back because I was ‘difficult’, so I sort of learned to be as quiet and  _ convenient  _ as possible.”

“Well, that’s downright horrific.”

“Yeah, well…” He hesitates. “Not half as bad as your parents.”

“That is  _ not  _ a high bar.”

“Eventually, my seahorse family adopted me, and they were pretty nice until I was gay.”

“You know, if you have to reassure  _ me  _ that your childhood wasn’t that bad, it was probably shit.”

“Yeah. I know.” He frowns. “...BJ?”

“Yeah?”

“I … don’t want to take time off work for this.” He gulps. “This whole, this whole  _ thing,  _ it was all so I could try to protect Sarah Lynn. And it’s been  _ months,  _ and I’m not any closer to figuring out a plan, and now I’m gonna be off for  _ weeks --  _ it’s a mess, BJ.”

“It’s not a mess,” says BoJack, in an attempt at reassurance. A second later he remembers that refusing to acknowledge it as a mess won’t make it any less of a mess, so he tries again. “You can, you can work on a plan in your time off. I’ll call you at work. We’ll figure something out.”

“You think I’m gonna be in any state to  _ plan?  _ Even  _ before  _ now, I couldn’t think of anything.”

“They’ll give you a script for painkillers or something, and if you’re  _ real  _ lucky, it’ll be strong enough to transcend your mind to another plane of existence and give you all the answers for you.” He pauses. “Or, maybe it won’t.”

Herb scowls.  _ “Not  _ helping.”

“Listen.” He sighs. “Maybe you just  _ won’t  _ be able to help right now, okay? Maybe you just need to take some time off. Maybe you  _ can’t  _ devote your whole life to helping other people, maybe you need to take a break, maybe you literally  _ cannot  _ be expecting yourself to come up with a plan to save an abused child while you’re at home in pain. Did you think of that? Give yourself a break.” 

Herb hesitates. “But --”

“I know. It’s -- it’s not a nice thing to think about it. But if you can’t do anything, you can’t do anything. Just how it is.” Finally, he pulls up in the hospital parking lot. “Okay, uh … do you want me to pick you up, or … ?”

“...I can call a cab.”

“Yeah, but, if you want a lift, you can call me, okay?” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Or, uh, I can just come by in a couple hours to check on you. I’m not busy tonight.” 

“Yeah, but I got no  _ idea  _ how long this is gonna take, I don’t want to take up your whole evening with my thing.”

“It’s not a big deal. I mean, the worst thing that’ll happen is I spend a few hours waiting around.”

“That would be a  _ disaster  _ by your standards.”

“You’re right, it would. But I’d be willing to do it, even though it would  _ ruin  _ my whole night.” He throws up his hands in a parody of his own frustration. “I mean, I’m a  _ sitcom  _ actor. And you know what they say! When it comes to comedy, timing is…”

Herb waits for him to finish the joke, then smacks himself in the forehead, but he has to bite his lower lip for several moments to prevent himself from involuntarily laughing. “Oh,  _ come  _ on.”

BoJack snickers. “Once I say the punchline, it’ll be  _ hilarious.” _

“But I already  _ know  _ what the punchline is.”

“Yeah, but when I  _ say  _ it, it’ll be hilarious.”

“If you make me laugh at any point in the next few weeks I  _ will  _ kill you.”

“That’s fine. It can wait.”

At this point Herb unhesitatingly shoves his own fist into his mouth so he won’t burst into laughter. “Knock it off. You’re gonna hurt me.”

“Okay, yeah, sorry.” He pauses. “Uhh…” 

“Yeah?”

“Do you want me to open the door for you?”

“I can do it.” He takes a slow, shallow breath, undoes his seatbelt, and twists around to open the car door. He tries to do it in one swift motion, but the pain from moving his torso quickly is damn near  _ blinding  _ and he has to pause to very  _ carefully  _ catch his breath.  _ “Shit.”  _ After another pause, he manages to lean forward to open the door, and then rests his head sideways against the back of the seat. “Okay, door’s open. Give me a minute.” 

BoJack winces sympathetically. “Yeesh, that looked hard.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“There’s vodka in the glovebox if you think it’ll help.”

“You keep  _ vodka  _ in your  _ car?”  _ He groans. “I’m not even going to ask.”

“I think you already know the answer.” He pauses. “...Hey, Herb?”

“Yeah?”

“You  _ really  _ don’t look so good.” He hesitates, frowning. “Would it help if I came in with you? So you don’t have to explain everything again?”

Herb frowns. “People would see you. There’d be rumours.”

“There’ll be rumours anyway. I’ll just take attention away from it by getting piss drunk in a public place and causing a scandal.”

“Explaining it won’t be  _ that  _ hard. I’ll just say I had a bad fall, and then if they ask I’ll say I fell off a bookshelf. Nobody needs to know  _ why  _ I was on the bookshelf.”

“Yeah, I feel like people are definitely gonna ask about that.”

“But I won’t answer.” He starts moving again, then frowns. “...BJ?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t … want to be alone right now.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t think you would.” He leans over and unbuckles his own seatbelt. “I’ll come in with you. Come on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapters might be a little slower from here on out since i'm starting school again the day after tomorrow! eleventh grade babey!


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